I've decided I have just about had it with maternity tops and bottoms.
I spent the better part of this week pulling and yanking and tugging on belly panels that will not stay up over Monster Belly, and when I wasn't doing that, I was tucking and fiddling with too-low-cut tops that threatened to reveal it all up top. (We had a great conversation on Facebook about why oh why must maternity tops be so low-cut? Great for commiserating and for clothing recommendations!)
Anyway, I foresee wearing lots more of the wonderfully-forgiving maxi dress with cardigans and jackets and even leggings if I have to through the winter. I'm particularly drawn to black because it helps camouflage for just a few more days the Large-And-In-Chargeness of it all. But even black can't fully hide the truth of the side view:
I've been having reoccurring dreams of being on a plane that is crashing.
I've never had plane crash dreams before. I've had a few rushing-through-the-airport-about-to-miss-my-flight dreams, but never I'm-on-a-plane-that's-crashing-right-now dreams. My anxiety dreams of the past were some version of driving up a highway overpass and suddenly discovering the overpass isn't finished - it ends in mid-air. And now what?
But these plane crash dreams have been unique completely to this pregnancy. In my dreams, the plane is crashing but never makes impact. At the last minute, there's a rocky landing or the dream just changes and the dying in a fiery crash part is averted.
I was dissecting it a little bit with my sister earlier this week after a particularly disturbing night of back-to-back plane crash dreams. Flying has always represented, for me anyway, a complete and utter surrender to lack of control. (I've written a little about it before.) And I have to tell you, I've been really wrestling with the lack of control lately.
My body, it is growing and it is hurting. I can't sit up straight or stand for long without miserable pain in my back and between my ribs. Basically, the only comfort I can find is leaning back in a chair or (preferably) in bed. And as you can see above, it's just a lot of belly to move around and navigate and avoid knocking things or people over.
I've not been too much of a pregnancy complainer in the past because usually by this point of bigness, I'm almost at the end. But y'all. IT IS NOVEMBER. And I think that's what is really freaking me the freak out right now. My body - thank you God - is doing what it needs to do to grow and sustain life for TWO human beings. It is amazing and I am thankful for it. It's just a scarily out-of-control feeling.
So back to the plane crash dreams. I don't know much about dream interpretation, so I visited with Professor Google and discovered this:
To dream that a plane crashes signifies that you have set overly high and unrealistic goals for yourself. You are in danger of having those goals come crashing down. Alternatively, the crashing airplane represents your lack of confidence, self-defeating attitude and self-doubt. You do not believe in your own ability to achieve those goals. Loss of power and uncertainty in achieving your goals are also signified.
Welp. There we go.
The past few weeks, I've been incredibly emotional about how little I am able to get done in my life right now, and I've been stewing about how that's not really going to change when I have two newborns. Or two infants. Or two toddlers.
I find myself in tears over the simplest of things. The downstairs bathroom is out of toilet paper and that means I have to lug my exhausted self upstairs to get more. The kitchen floor needs to be swept again. The laundry ... I am never, ever caught up on the laundry and soon what will I do when there are six people in this family?
You know those last few days of PMS angst when everyone and everything seems impossible and too much? I feel like that has been my mental state for the past few weeks. I just feel like everywhere I turn, I see evidence that I am not capable. And I worry that I will be nowhere near capable for the next three or four years.
I don't know. Maybe it's all hormones.
But there have been wonderful gifts of grace, such tender mercies that have ministered to me over and over again.
A box of baby boy clothes from my dear sweet Laura of the Hollywood variety:
Also, this post from Love on breastfeeding twins was so empowering and encouraging.
And finally, at the moment I needed this truth the most, Amanda told a story at Deeper Family that left me literally sobbing into my pillow as her words sank in:
This One, he carried us then and carries us still but somedays, many days, I forget. I believe the lie that it all rests square on my shoulders and I nurture quiet pride that I hold it up so high and so well. I forget the unseen Hand that delivers life from death and food to lips. But that day at the grocery I could not forget. That day at the grocery, and so many since, I am made to remember.
Oh my word. Believing the lie that it all rests on my shoulders. Yeah. I'm going to start crying again.
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So, friends. Not the most chipper of updates, but it's important for me to record this season with integrity. The boys are moving around so much now, and sometimes I just lay still and put my hands on my belly and breathe and enjoy feeling them work their way around in there. It would not hurt my feelings in the least if one of them would flip from breech to head-down so I can maybe not have two little heads crammed into my ribs, but whatever. We'll survive. I'm sure of it.