“Why do the things i used to love doing feel so bland and meaningless now?” is a question i often find myself asking. Am i depressed? do i just need to force myself to do them knowing they will bring me joy again? do i need different activties in my life? But time and again my list of hobbies remains the same, so what has changed?
Where I really want to be is home; home with my baby. I want early mornings and slow days. I want to be waist high in laundry and elbow deep in dishes. I want to be sleep deprived and delirious. I want to feel your tiny fingers wrap around mine and to smell your soft velvet head. I want to be trapped under your tiny body because you fell asleep on top of me and I don’t dare wake you up. I want sore, cracked nipples because I am feeding you from my body. I want to see rolls and stretch marks when I look in the mirror because I made you in my body. I want to grow and bend and break and be turned inside out because I am transforming into your mother.
So when I am out for coffee with a friend, in a yoga class or going for a hike I am just day dreaming of a time that does not yet exist. With a despondent heart I am always thinking of you, everything else feels bland compared to the yearning of you.
Fertility Tales 