Paradox

At 12:30 a.m., I turned off my alarm and added the loss of exercise to the list of things to be grouchy about. I retreated to the couch, wallowing in self-pity, only to be called back upstairs twice by Nicholas, who wanted to lie on the Boppy and cuddle at the breast. (Notice I didn’t say eat.)

When Alex woke up scared just before five, I bowed to the inevitable, called the night done and got up to run. (I really do want to lose those last six pounds.) The odd thing is that often, running is easier when I’m woefully un-rested. The nerves that tell me “this hurts, I’m too tired” are dulled and nonfunctional. This was one of those mornings.

And despite dreading the long day ahead, I could not help but be stirred by the sight of a crystal-clear sky turning to rainbow sherbet in the east, of a little charcoal-gray kitten bounding away on four white boots…by the whisper of a dozen pairs of wings passing a few feet over my head in otherwise unbroken silence.

Once, my sisters-in-law admired me for how I could keep my cool with a screaming child. Not so much now. I feel like Kim Basinger in I Dreamed of Africa. One scene, she is shrieking like a maniac about how awful this place is, and then you skip to the next scene, which begins with her staring across a landscape with a beatific smile on her face. It drove us crazy. I understand having mixed emotions about things, but this was ridiculous. And yet now, I think that’s me—at least, when I blog!