I’m supposed to be using this week to work on the nursery.
Painting it. Putting together furniture. Getting ready.
It feels like everything is taunting me right now.
My pants fit.
Handwritten notes from the OB.
The the unwashed bag of clothes from Christmas at the in-laws.
The Super Woman underwear I bought to wear after I gave birth.
Even the urge to cry all the time has left.
If I had that, at least I’d feel something, but I’m just feeling empty.
Like frozen gray slush on the side of the road.
Like a cold soggy boiled peanut.
Like a daffodil bulb that sprouted, but failed to bloom.
Like an oil stain on a newly paved driveway.
Like the embarrassing typo that you discover in your resume seconds after you sent it to HR.
Yeah. That’s me.