A (Sort Of) Happy New Year Post

Happy New Year! Are we still saying that three weeks in? (or four weeks when I probably finish writing this) ((edited to add: help—it is now nearly five weeks in?!))

Last night someone on the radio informed me this is the part of January when people begin to give up on their good intentions. Motivation is starting to waver, apparently. Personally, I haven’t even finished reflecting on 2022 or making plans for 2023, so if you’re in the demotivated sloth camp, we’re in it together. This month is too dark and cold and financially barren to overhaul your whole life, anyway. 

I feel like a bit of a hypocrite declaring myself queen of the sloths. Over the last couple of years, probably since leaving full-time paid employment and spending 95% of my time at home, I’ve become a firm New Year’s girl. (Note: I made sure to say full time paid employment because what I do all day long is work. Just unpaid work. The hardest work I’ve ever done, actually. So hard I could honestly rip my eyeballs out. It’s been a long week, okay?)

You best believe this New Year’s girl loves a chance to reflect and reset. To change things up if they aren’t working. I think it saves me from getting lost in the mundanity of my days or feeling utterly purposeless at times. Paddy knows if I begin a conversation with I want to know what you think about… then I am usually about to change up a routine or set a new intention or tell him why xyz isn’t working.

But this New Year doesn’t feel quite so new or shiny or certain. I guess this is where I should tell you I’m pregnant! *insert baby emoji* *Insert heart-eyes emoji* How’s that for an announcement? To be honest I’m hesitant to ‘announce’ anything at all, because 3 babies and 9 years into motherhood, I am all too aware that my joy is someone else’s pain. It’s a jarring feeling. But I think the people who read this blog are my people. You get me. You (hopefully) get my heart. And (hopefully) you know I’m not so unaware or ignorant that I want to rub my good things in someone else’s face. Hopefully you know I have not been so immune to hard stuff in my life that I don’t have tender spots of my own. 

And if this is a sore one for you, please know I wish I could share my news with you in person, ideally on my sofa, letting our tears of joy and grief spill over into our steaming cups of tea. And also onto plates piled high with jam-smothered scones. Maybe a few sandwiches. Can you tell I’m permanently ravenous right now? 

For the past few months I’ve been too sick and exhausted to think beyond each new day, never mind a new year–survival mode is well and truly activated. God willing, this little blessing will arrive in June, smack bang in the middle of 2023. So I will spend half of this year pregnant and the other half postpartum, both of which know how to truly rock me to my core. Truthfully, I really struggle mentally when I’m pregnant. Praise the Lord, this time round hasn’t been as bad as my last pregnancy, but it’s still there loitering in the background. 

So, as much as I want to get up early and make all the changes and set all the goals and make all the nutritious shopping lists, my limits feel so very real. It feels impossible to make intentions for the new year when my mind and body don’t feel like my own. In fact, they currently aren’t my ‘own’. They belong to both of us. And a little bit to everyone in my care who relies on me. And for now, I’m okay with that. I mean, when I woke up this morning I barfed in the kitchen sink because I dared to drink a gulp of water before eating a slice of dry toast. But mostly, I’m trying to be okay with it. I’m trying to be okay with relinquishing all control. 

Maybe, if this were a regular Happy New Year post, I would mark all of the good in 2022–like our toddler who learned to sleep and going on dates with Paddy as a result of a toddler who learned to sleep and church planting and growing our family and writing and dinner time discipleship and the skatepark and the adoption and all of the little stuff in between. 

Maybe, I would reflect on the stuff that didn’t work so well, like my stupid chemically imbalanced brain and exercising and not living near to our church family and the aftermath of the adoption and again, all of the little stuff in between. 

Maybe, for now, this is enough.

(And so is a silly little list of ‘ins and outs’ for 2023 because, well, I am so freaking tired and my brain feels like the consistency of baked feta and everything I write turns out a little emo-ish in the end and this made me smile and feel a little more alive and it’s good to feel alive. Will you share yours with me?)