A Lion In Its Cage.

Rediscovered the web this morning after nearly two weeks without a computer. Moving deprived me of a fantastical world of…stuff. Replied to my e-mails. Looked up felted clogs pattern and did not find it. Read blogs. Wrote The Great Bookscape post. Got an e-mail from a friend’s mom asking me if I’ve given birth yet and how am I doing. Realized it was time for lunch. Was not hungry. Tried to find out how to revive my potted azalea that is slowly dying. Had my vegetable curry for lunch at 12:45. Ate it all, ate too much. I make good vegetable curry.

Have to work up the courage to do some laundry.

It is raining and blustery out, I do not want to go for a walk as originally planned. I am not masochistic. Good to know.

Feel like knitting. Pulled out a project, dropped it on the table and stared at it. Maybe I should cast on for a new project. That cotton/linen blend I bought yesterday, perhaps. I just don’t know what to knit with it yet. Thought of making coffee. Checked pulse. Racing. Coffee not a good plan. Picked up a book instead. Don’t feel like fantasy. Maybe I missed something on the web. Better go check again. Went down one floor too many, ended up in my bedroom. The bed is very tempting. Stared at the bed for a second. Picked up laundry basket instead. It’s filled with mittens and scarves and the thingamabobber to store them in the closet. Trying to work up the will to go organize mittens and scarves in the hall closet upstairs. Writing this instead. I think I’ll have some of that Kusmi tea. It’ll warm me up inside.

Just say it. Write what is really on your mind. This is your therapy. You have to grieve. You have to write. Your throng of readers won’t mind. They can always close the window if they don’t want to read this post. You need to write this down. It’s driving you mad.

I am sitting in the baby’s room.

It was occupied by my seven-week old niece over the last couple of days, and there are ever so subtle remnants of her sweet baby smell. I try to catch them when they pass, but I inhale them too quickly and the bliss disappears instantly. My sister, her husband and my niece came over last Sunday and while they were picking up their gear and getting ready to leave early Monday morning, I was looking after the baby. She was lying on her back on a thick blanket on the living room table. She is so tiny. Gabrielle was tinier, I thought. And just when I thought that and was trying to block the image I have of her in my mother’s arms, the baby looked at me and smiled a smile that never ended. My eyes filled up with tears. I felt like she could sense my thoughts and could see Gabrielle in my eyes. She just kept smiling and staring into my eyes like she knew, at that precise moment, exactly what was going through my mind and was trying to tell me everything would be ok. I was having a breakdown I did not expect.

This room does not look like a baby’s room yet. There is a dismantled crib in a corner with the little mattress propped up against it. The rocking chair is in the middle of the room with stuff on it. There are six bins in the closet filled with baby clothes and other baby items. I had to put them away, I could not have them piled up in this space staring at me until I can empty them and put their contents to good use. I could still see where we had applied masking tape and written Gabrielle. The ink marked the plastic, and her name is forever written on six plastic bins in the baby’s room closet. I miss her.

Happier post to come. I promise.