1: Window sill
2: Rosliston
3: Baby Loss wave of light candle
4: Huge pouty face for the dry arms
5: Gritty floor, mama's journal
Another whole month and I have barely taken any more photographs than this. When I created a new blog space for myself it was with the feeling that I wanted to journal my own creative explorations more, start finding the courage to post my poetry and art, begin to accept and enjoy the lovely and liberating aspects of moving out of the baby phase of family life.
I feel like I've spent seven months using a series of placeholders to chart an ongoing feeling of panic and disbelief. I wanted another baby. I chose this. But I didn't *expect* it, and every part of it. Impossible, exhausting beyond anything I've ever done, a series of "life spiralling out of the familiar and safe". Hyperemesis whilst attempting to keep a creative business alive, home educate four children, and not give way to the lurking depths of depression and anxiety which I'd so thoroughly shaken off before this awful sickness. This isn't what I expected to be writing about. Feeling. Experiencing.
I'm tired of my own misery, bored of trying to articulate it, sick of trying to justify it, worn down by trying to minimise it.
Where the hell has this year gone? It feels right now like so much failure and wasted time. I feel like I should be feeling strong, prepared, grateful, any number of things other than sad. I wanted a better year for my children. I wanted a better "one last" pregnancy for everyone. I wanted to approach birth feeling optimistic and joyful.
Just a little longer.
