Lately, the words just don't come.
I feel like my heart has so much to say, but at the same time like my brain has absolutely nothing to say. Like everything I have to say is the same, like I've said it all before.
I'm frustrated and disappointed and anxious and I don't even know what else.
Right now, I am sitting on my couch with my feet up, the advice everyone seems to be giving me these days. I am anxious that nothing "meaningful" is getting done. It is quiet in my house because my sweet big girl is napping, easily for once, after a long playdate this morning which we both sorely needed.
I am waiting.
There is not much else to my life right now.
Soon, there will be a tiny, squishy newborn in my life and a jealous big sister. And I won't be sleeping at night, and I will be trying to remember how to survive. I will be busy and yet not busy. I will feel that nothing is ever getting accomplished and the best I can hope for is that I won't care.
But right now I am just waiting. Waiting and wondering and completely unsure of what to expect. There is an emptiness to the waiting, which most of the time is neither eager anticipation nor dread but simply this space before, this quiet.
And I want to fill that space with words, to let them all pour out of me and through me, to use this moment to create something full of beauty and meaning and worthiness.
But it feels like there isn't time, even though time is all I seem to have.