life

     We are all sick this week. Like, whiny, snotty, feverish, delirious, curl-up-in-a-ball, s.i.c.k! It's fun to be pregnant & sick, ALSO trying to play mom and caretaker. Hubster is sick too, so I can't even try to pawn off a bunch of stuff on him. (Though, I have to be very thankful for the fact that he is still running around and doing far more than I am.) These little things, life, they are things I now complain about. Is it odd to think this way? For three years I would hear people complain about little things, trivial things; or worse, things their kids were doing, and think, "my baby is dead". I am not saying complaining is purposely offensive and that I don't do it ... but I have come to a point where suddenly I realize I am complaining a bit about the little things in life. It still scares me that life can go on. I remember the hour-to-hour thought when Story first died ... How can anyone go on about their lives? Why didn't the world stand still?

     I am a little confused as to where I am going with this. Especially since I sat down to type about the utterly heartbreaking "A Major Event in my Life" article that my son wrote in class today. That is really why I logged in to update. (And no, I still haven't finished the unbelievable saga of the events that took place in July.) So, I am complaining. I don't feel good, I can't seem to stay on top of housework, kids' schoolwork, the animals, rescue work, home school events, etc. For those who have recently endured a loss ... I am very sorry for complaining. It is really all trivial. I am a little scared. I guess this means I am healing, but never getting over it. Constantly trying to understand the new normal that I am living.