Becoming Me: New Limitations

It’s felt like limbo in our house for what seems like an eternity. I mentioned months ago how we’d bought a new couch but couldn’t sell our old one. Well, that finally changed this weekend, but the rest of the house has taken over the limbo stage. We’re deep in the midst of updates on what will one day be our little dude’s nursery, and what that really means is that there’s junk we need to sort through, store, sell, and reorganize everywhere.

Carrying this little one is the most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced, but I’m having a terribly hard time succumbing to my “frail” status. I’m such a doer. I see something that needs to be done and I do it immediately. Otherwise I go stir crazy. Sadly, about 95% of the things that need to be done in our home during this limbo time period are things I can’t physically do right now. The heavy lifting, the moving, the painting…. I’m going insane.

I hate being on other people’s time tables. I’m trying to be patient, really, I am. But so much of what has to be done actually requires two people… two to lift, to move, to organize, to take out of the attic and put back into the attic… and so Alex does what he can and then we wait for helpers. Meanwhile, I’m busying myself with the few tasks I can do (straightening up, laundry, dishes…). It makes me feel slightly more useful.

And I’m bringing flowers home regularly. Just to make it feel more like home.

This past weekend, this past gorgeous weekend… well, let’s just say all I wanted to do was work on our yard. Sadly, thanks to about a dozen (yes, a dozen) outdoor cats who practically live in the flower beds of our street, I can’t even do yardwork. So I limited myself to raking leaves. It felt so very unsatisfying.

These new limitations may make other women happy. They just make me anxious. I keep hearing that I need to take advantage of it, remember I’m growing a baby, that I’m doing plenty. It doesn’t feel that way and I struggle with it every day.

There’s this old dresser that used to be in his soon-to-be nursery that had to get moved and where did it get moved? Plop. Dead in the center of our master bedroom. It’s too heavy for Alex to move himself and so there is remains. For a month now. I have to walk around it when I come and go from our bedroom. I see it when I wake up, I see it when I turn the lights off each night. It’s like the haunting metaphor for my limitations. I feel so lazy and helpless. Plus, I just want it gone. Have since the day is was dropped there in the middle of my bedroom floor.

The end is near, I know it is. We plan on having the nursery complete sooner rather than later and then the house can start piecing itself back to normal. But I’ll still be stuck unable to lift or move or paint or garden. And hopefully, by then, I’ve settled into my new limitations.