I was sad today. Not about anything in particular, really. Just sad and melancholy. Maybe it was because the sun I've gotten used to in the last two weeks had been hiding for a few days. Or because I'm all out of whack with the time change, and will be for several more days.
I have never really needed a reason to be sad. It seems to be one thing I'm excellent at. Wait, in the interest of using my prepositions correctly, let me rephrase that. It seems to be one thing at which I am excellent. That's better. I must practice what I preach.
It could have been because the morning got off to a rough start, with Andrew clinging desperately to the covers as we dragged him kicking and screaming into the day. No, it wasn't quite that bad, but he was crying and trying to stay in his bed. Daddy Dearest ended up hollering about being late, Andrew bawled his face off because he got a consequence for being a pain in the butt, and Mommy Moron just ended up in Cranksville.
It could have been because the onus of registering the little guy for kindergarten was looming over me. Yes, that's a happy occasion, but I'm also crushed by it. Moms out there--you get it, I know you do. It's step one of the empty nest, when he flies farther and farther from the tree without me, and without needing my help for so many things that he does on his own now.
It could have been because I'm missing Edna, a feeling which, for some reason, has hit me again full force. That's all going to come bubbling to the top again soon, and maybe that's a good thing. I miss her terribly, daily, but I also miss "the way things were"--when Dad was happy, and Andrew could spend time with him without him being preoccupied by his own grief; when family gatherings weren't full of things unsaid and us all tip-toeing around trying not to pour salt in wounds; when I didn't have to explain to Andrew what I mean when I say she's happy and watching over us; when an issue of Reader's Digest that she got us the subscription for doesn't make me cry.
It could have been because I am stuck between a rock and a hard place when it comes to the second baby decision, and the longer I put the decision off, the harder the rock becomes. I would love for Andrew to have a brother (or sister) and not be an only child, but for us, it's not just a decision--it's WORK. It's scheduling appointments and making trips to see the specialist in Charlottesville; it's timing everything, and testing everything, and focusing solely on that particular effort. And that's not even the effort and work of BEING pregnant. If I had my way, I'd be magically pregnant tomorrow (immaculately, of course, because I am so NOT in the mood); after the ten-ish months of pregnant bliss, we'd be graced with a lovely, healthy baby. And a wet nurse.
It could have been because I'm lacking Vitamin D. We're back to the whole sunlight thing now, I realize. It could be a serious chocolate deficiency. It could be a reaction to having too much to do and not enough time, or money, to do it with. It could be because I never finish what I start, or because I'm a jerk, or because I didn't have any protein for breakfast. It could have been because I slept on the wrong side last night or because I was twisted up in my nightgown or because I broke the band of my diamond ring yesterday at school.