I miss that view! I miss rows of brightly-colored houses, ducking into alleys and constantly thinking is this real life? I miss holding hands with my mom in the markets and wigging out over food and drinks with my sister. (Three words: goulash, glühwein and weihnachtspunsch!)
Oh, but I missed my little family, too. I can’t seem to stop hugging the dog and saying “hiiiiii! I’m home!” to Andy. I unpacked my bags THE DAY AFTER I got back, so apparently the trip turned me into a responsible adult. Maybe it was the Alpine air? WHO AM I?
My birthday was a bit of a flop. I threw up from feeling nauseous on the plane, cried a bit from seeing lots of mommies with their babies aaaand my van was rear-ended on the drive home to Frederick. Womp womp. I called Andy sobbing and sputtering, I just want to be home.
For all that drama, though, the day ended rather nicely with me reading in bed next to my pup and my guy. Saturday night we went out to eat downtown to celebrate and we took a stroll through Shab Row, which was all decorated for Christmas. It was fantastically romantic.
I was doing rather well this weekend, thinking I had the whole jet-lag thing under control and feeling quite on top of my emotions. Then yesterday morning happened. I woke up and was immediately hit with the longest anxiety attack I’ve ever had. Showering will help, no? No. It didn’t help. A protein-packed breakfast will do the trick. Nope. So I cancelled my afternoon sub job and cried, feeling sorry for myself and wondering why on earth I was shaking and crying. Except, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Jet lag + heavy heart + PMS + coming down from the high of a trip can’t possibly equate to things being easy peasey.
I don’t want to be a broken record, constantly saying how hard it is or how anxious I feel or how I’m ready to get out of this limbo. I feel I am ridiculously high maintenance, and who wants to feel that way? But I also don’t want to be that girl who plasters a smile on her face and doesn’t let anyone see the pain she feels inside. (I am that girl sometimes, and it’s exhausting. Spilling my frustrations is tiring too, but I usually feel a bit of relief afterwards.)
Thank God for my sweet friend Kristen in Florida who, immediately after receiving my “having crazy anxiety right now” text took charge and ordered us dinner so I could rest. Man, I’m crying again just thinking about it. Isn’t it wonderful when your people show up for you?
I hope I am stronger today. I hope I can fill out the medical history form at the spa without crying or internally screaming at God. (I can’t tell you how many people have seen the “c-section” note and asked me how my kids are.) I hope I can make it through the line of the grocery store without being tempted to approach the pregnant teenager in line behind me. Can I have your baby? I hope I can make dinner and have a smile on my face when Andy walks in from work, and I hope I can honestly say, “I had a good day.”
If I just can’t take it, if I fall apart and rush home and surrender to the tears, there are always vacation pictures to thumb through. HGTV to watch. Puppy fur to bury my face in. Large manly feet to place my feet on top of and a yummy-smelling chest to lean against as we shuffle-dance in the kitchen. And really, that wouldn’t be so bad.