the annual february funk
I've been in such a funk lately. I think it's the weather. I know it's the weather! I'm tired of all my music, I'm tired of the tv (which is rarely on, but when it is on I'm instantly annoyed), the dry air is giving me a sore throat and itchy skin, and every cold front gives me a pounding headache. Even my hair is annoying me. Everything feels as grey as the weather outside. I think I get this way to an extent toward the end of every winter, but it is bad this year. All my old anti-funk standbys (reading, writing, kitchen dance parties, chocolate) are failing me. Every time I've decided TODAY IS THE DAY I start running again (I neeeeeed those endorphins, man), something comes up as soon as James comes home, and I wind up in bed with a pounding headache or something of the sort. It's hard being cooped up all day with a baby. Some days it's just too cold or snowy to go anywhere or there's nowhere to go that doesn't sound like an insta-headache. After days on end of frigid temperatures, the toys lose their appeal, the cabin fever sets in, the sweatpants start to feel like a personal insult, and I think we both want a time out from each other. I've decided that for this phase of life, I'm ready to hang up my I Love Winter hat. The snow will always hold a special place in my heart, but right now my sanity, and that of my child, is more important. I never thought I would be excited for summer.
Last week was rough. Another growth spurt and two teeth turned our house upside-down. There were many tears and not much sleep. Her last growth spurt was the week of Christmas. Why they all must coincide with holidays, I will never understand, but I will use it as another reason to guilt her into making me breakfast in bed when she's older. I was also in the throes of reading The Nightingale last week, and it was perfect timing. That book rocked me. The Occupation! The Holocaust! Hiding little Jewish babies! I was wiping tears from my eyes every time I read it. I know it was fiction, but WWII really happened, and people were doing everything they could to feed their children. It was exactly what I needed to read while I was battling frustration over my cranky child. We were warm and safe and well-fed, and it put everything into perspective for me. I've been chewing on the story ever since and looking at my life with new appreciation.
Until Valentine's Day, that is. It started terribly and I nearly ran away from home. It finally started to turn around when James surprised me with a coffee and made us a homemade pizza for lunch. During this season of life, a fancy Valentine's date is somewhat impossible, so instead I decided I would just make us a spectacularly delicious comfort food dinner of roast, creamy mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls, and a chocolate cake (with red sprinkles--important!). We had dinner and drinks by a roaring fire in the fireplace and watched Friends and Downton Abbey while our littlest valentine slept in her crib upstairs and it snowed outside. Twas wonderful.
I'm still in a bit of a funk this week, but at least I have leftovers.