I finished my fourth Anne Lamott book today, "Operating Instructions- A Journal of my Son's First Year." It is actually what I would call the first installment of her series of non-fiction works on faith. I hadn't planned on reading it here- we're on a little mini-vacation with our friends Stacey and Andrew, at Deep Creek Lake. As a little present to my friend Nancy Sanders, I'd brought "The Time Traveler's Wife" to delve into, as she mentioned she's desperate to talk with someone about it. I also had some brain lapse which caused me to believe that I couldn't possibly gain anything from reading a book about Lamott's first year as a mother, since, of course, I am a well-seasoned mother of almost four, and, after months of inhaling her more recent essays on her now 17 year old son Sam, it just seemed irrelevant. Ha. I snorted each page like a line of coke (that sounds cool to write even though I wouldn't know snorting a line of coke from stuffing baby powder up my nostrils, thank God). I'm sure to our friends, I appeared to be the most overwhelmingly neglectful mother on the face of the earth, laying almost supine in the overstuffed living room chair of our chalet, oblivious to all three of my lovely offspring. I am hoping that my large uterus excuses me from active participation on this trip, otherwise, our relationship, I'm afraid, is doomed.

I loved reading that book, to be serious for a minute. I only wish that I had happened upon it while suffering through MY first year as a new mom. I can remember the anguish I felt, so intensely, especially in those first weeks. Frankly, though, I believe that God probably nudged that stellar piece of non-fiction into my path this weekend, because my anxiety over bringing Seth into our chaos has already begun. With each child, I have experienced a lot of post-partum blues and exhaustion, and with each child, I have had those feelings compounded by the reality that I cannot, like when Lily was born, just crawl in a hole, nursing my baby, until my husband comes home to rescue me- I have to parent the others too. I feel frightened, in the midst of it all, that I'm going to end up in a dark place that I can no longer climb out of....that my kids will discover me with a bottle of Robitussin, on the floor of the hall closet (a scenario that is pretty much, guaranteed, not to happen due to 1) I had Robitussin, and I surely ain't gonna leave this world guzzling that as my poison, and 2) our hall closets are not deep enough to fit the girth of my current behind.)

I am also a little sad about the immanent loss of my pregnant belly. While I am excited to meet Seth, I am rather attached to my cute self- all wobbly and round, and fear that I will revert back to the usual- can't lose weight, feel like shit, self.

I will ponder these things and pray for some answers in the next few weeks. Generally speaking, the Lord doesn't seem to speak the English that I am fluent in so those answers are rather hard for me to hear.