January Blues

Do you get the January blues? Why is that? Even when I was a little girl January was not my favorite month. I can't say why really. It's the month of my birthday. And as a kid, birthdays are kind of awesome. But still, that little bit of blah wiggled its way in, even then. Usually it's worse. In fact, this year I don't really think it's so bad. But I just feel kind of, ugh. You know, that sort of unsettled, why do I feel this way sort of feeling. It's probably a lot of things. I got a new calling at church, that's part of it. I was called into nursery. I don't  hate it, it just takes some getting used to. And I don't get to go to relief society. I don't love that part. But those little kids really are so cute and sweet and I get to be with Brooks. I do love that part.  But still, it's change. I am so bad with change. And I am starting a new semester. I start on Tuesday. For some reason, starting a new semester always gets my feathers ruffled. Once I have the first night under my belt, I am fine. But until then I feel all weird. The new names and faces and getting back into a routine after a long, lovely holiday. My first night happens to be on my birthday. This actually happens quite often. And it's really not such a big deal.  But I think it's the birthday that adds to my January blues. Birthdays are not so awesome when you are not a kid. And I am turning 37 this year. 37 is definitely not a kid. In fact, 37 seems very, very old to me. I hate this growing old business. And I hate that I hate it. I want to be one of those women that grows old gracefully, that seems not to be bothered with wrinkles and numbers. I am not one of those women yet. Boo. What else? Oh, there's the baby thing. And maybe that's the big thing. Why does this weigh on my mind so? Why? Maybe it's to do with the birthdays. Every year I get older. We said we would be done having babies when I was 35. I had Brooks 4 days after my 35th birthday. 35, 4 kids. It seemed like a good thing. But then there's that little itch I have. That feeling that there's just one more. I try to talk myself out of it, still. 4 is good. And Brooks is good. Maybe we shouldn't press our luck. Bah. But it weighs on me. That little feeling. If only I didn't have to get pregnant. I am terrified of being pregnant again. I am such a nervous, emotional wreck of a girl when I am pregnant.  If a baby could just appear in my arms. Even if I could just fast forward to 40 weeks and deliver that baby of mine. But it doesn't really work that way, does it? Instead, I get pregnant and paranoid and fat. Super fat. And 9 months is a long time to be all of those things. But a baby...Bah. So there it is. All the weight of January in one whining post. And now I feel so much better about it all. Blogging is the best kind of therapy.