Today is not much different than yesterday, or the day before, or even Tuesday of last week. Honestly, I can't remember doing anything out of the ordinary since Ulie was born. It's a season, I tell myself, a repeat of what I've heard from my pastor's wife, my husband, and pretty much anyone else who observes my classic symptoms of sleep-deprivation and mental vacancy.
It's gotten to the point that Bill comes home to bring me the news of the day or else, short of anything exploding within a one-yard radius of our home, I'd miss it altogether.
That doesn't make me near as sad as realizing that I can go about my day without offering a hug to our kids or even a kiss to Bill when he comes home from work. I'm just not thinking about it. I have given Ulie so many kisses, hugs, caresses, snuggles, and cuddles throughout the day that I am just not aware of my lack of attention to anyone else.
I am out of touch. Terribly so. In every possible way.
But I am so happy that God isn't.
Glory
2 comments:
It comes back. I promise.
I mean, when I had my son, I would find myself thinking things like, "I used to be a semi-sorta intellegent being who was semi-sorta in touch; what happened?" I thought that semi-sorta intellegent/in-touch person was lost and gone forever.
But, as it turns out, it just seems to come with the territory: Have a baby and watch everything else but tending to that new baby go to pot.
This is my favorite thing to say to encourage those dear women I encounter with that familiar blank stare and that familiar pause of silence that happens mid-sentence:
It comes back. I promise.
Love you,
Carol :)
I'm looking forward to that. Thanks for your comment.
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