The holidays are finally at a close. I mean that in the most positive way possible. Each year I am torn between my feelings of melancholy that Christmas has passed in a flash and the relief that we can finally get back to 'normal.' I admit it--I thrive on routine. I love the holidays--with all the decorations and magic and gift-giving, but the exhaustion that is the dark shadowed twin to the bright and shiny moments leaves me spent.
A few days before Christmas, we received news that our happy little world was going to go all topsy-turvy. Chris got the news that his shift would be shifting from days (6ish-3ish) to 3pm-11pm. "What's the big deal?" an unsuspecting stranger might ask. The big deal is this: I am not cut-out for single parenthood and I'm fairly certain I'm not all that great at being cut-off from evening outings with my friends AND I know I'm pretty terrible at maintaining a marriage in which I see my husband only as ships passing in the night. Pair all of this knowledge with pregnancy hormones and knowing the slow-moving tortoise I will become in my 9th month of pregnancy and I lost my composure and typical optimism. I was certain we were doomed. This drama of my self-centeredness lasted about 24 hours. It took that long for me to recognize that my husband was not gifted with typical optimism and truly, things could be a whole hell of a lot worse. So I turned that frown upside down. Or something like that. I was on my way to making peace with a crappalicious situation.
Turns out that all my dramatic fretting was for naught--through a completely unexpected turn of events, Chris has been told that he will remain on days--his current schedule, with the minor change of days off.
Has anyone seen a pregnant lady turn cartwheels? Yeah, me neither, but I gave it serious consideration when I received that phone call.