Mid December

So far, it’s been the most relaxed Christmas season I can remember for some time. Admittedly the kids are way too high energy for me at the moment - excitement about the coming holiday, no doubt; last night it took Bobby an hour to do one page of math homework. I hope his teacher doesn’t give them any homework next week - she didn’t the week before Thanksgiving, and it was amazing the difference it made to our evenings. I despise homework. Ideally I’d like at least the second half of next week to involve cookie making and Christmas movies. We shall see.

I’ve been doing a good job chipping away at my various crafting projects. I feel like I’ve done more sewing and knitting in the last week than I’ve done in my entire life. I finally found the time to make the BF a “daddy” stocking. It’s always been a glaring absence - the three of us with homemade stockings with our names on them and him with a random grey sock from my grandparents’ house. A few years ago I would have bristled at this; after four and a half years I do believe he’s earned it. It’s his worst fear, being not included and tossed out; it’s my worst fear opening myself up to someone and being used or hurt by them. Together we’re working on it.

I’ve been particularly weepy lately. I’m not sad - just...weepy. Sentimental. Hormones? Perhaps. Many of the women in my book club last week were talking about their peri- or menopausal hormonal issues; so far I feel ok for the most part, but I’m very much aware that my life as a menstruating woman is coming to an end, and with that will come many unwelcome changes. I always felt my mother’s downward spiral began at menopause, and I have a terrible fear of this. That I’ll become unrecognizable to myself, that I’ll change into an object of loathing. But, I’ve thought this at many transitional moments in my life - most notably, when I sobbed for the entirety of my tenth birthday, convinced I was going to be somehow lost. And yet here I am at 47 and I am still someone I know and like. Surely if puberty, womanhood, moving across the country, having two children, and being in my first real adult relationship haven’t changed me for the worse then I doubt a little thing like a hormonal shift will. I suppose it’s the classic fear of the control freak that you’re always one breath away from completely losing it. And yet you never do. It’s like the door that’s never left unlocked and the oven that’s never left on. And yet you worry about it nevertheless.

This weekend is full of dancing and gigs and parties and dressing up. Let’s hope that kicks my broody ruminating back a bit.