My children have gotten old enough to be actually useful in small bursts. They can get clothes out of the washing machine, fetch things off of shelves, find my phone, bring my cups and plates out of the room, etc. And they’re not just willing to do these things, they’re actively enthusiastic. Especially if it’s something I’m finding difficult to do, like bending or the likes at the moment.

I have to admit, it feels really nice. I’m not sure what it is – maybe something to do with observing their growing independence? Definitely something to do with seeing their general kindness and empathy; myself and G. had a conversation the other night where we strongly concluded that they are certainly not psychopaths.

They’re not quite old enough yet to deal with boiling water and make me a cup of tea, but they’re very willing to go and ask their father to make one for me.

Hmmm …. there’s a definite theme of my laziness running through these paragraphs this morning.

The other child is being comfortingly wriggly this morning. But … I don’t love him yet. Not the same way. I wonder if I’m even capable of loving them until they’re born, and maybe even born for a while. I didn’t get the automatic falling-in-love with my children thing when they were born. It seeped in over days, weeks and months. In fact, I possibly love them more this year than I did last year. I think the longer I spend with them and the more they become autonomous people in their own rights, then the more I feel an objective love for them.

When they were small and dependent I certainly felt a type of love for them, but it was so tangled up in protectiveness and duty that I find it hard to extricate my feelings from that. So, I suppose I do love this unborn little wriggler, but not in the same way. It’s too bound up in all the responsibility I feel towards him.

In other thoughts, I’ve been thinking a bit about alcohol again. At the moment it’s pretty easy to relegate it to something that doesn’t need any thought processes – it’s such an easy out, being pregnant. I don’t even need to consider drinking or not drinking because it’s such an absolute “no”. But for the few months before I even became pregnant, I had been thinking a bit about it.

I’ve been wondering again about moderation, or not even moderation, but maybe “special occassions”. Like, do I become a drinker again if I have a glass of wine once or twice a year? I know drinking like that wouldn’t have a detrimental impact on my health, but at the same time – what am I doing it for? And do I run the risk, once I’ve opened the door to “special occasions”, of broadening that category so widely that every week has something that can be shoehorned into that.

What am I even looking for when I imagine having a few “special occasion” drinks? Am I looking forward to getting tispy? drunk? shitfaced? Do I miss hangovers? Do I miss the anxiety and fear? I mean, it’s a no-brainer, right? So what is it that I feel like I might be missing?

I think I’m sometimes missing something that never really existed for any true length of time. Those moments of perceived camaraderie when the first sips of a drink pull you away from all the stresses and responsibilities of daily life and you get that warm, safe, comfortable feeling spreading through your belly and down your legs. When everything just feels alright with the world for a few seconds, and there’s a shared space of connection and warmth with those you’re drinking with. Do you know what I’m talking about?

I think that glimpse into connection is at least part of what I spent so many of my drinking years chasing.

I think it’s a ghost, though.

I keep thinking about this special bottle of wine that G. received for his 40th birthday that he’s kept closed – I think he’s saving it up for book publication day. At least that’s what I keep imagining. And I feel like I deserve to be part of a special celebration like that. I mean, it’s not like not having a glass of wine excludes me from the celebration, but it can feel like I’m “outside communion” or something like that.

Who knows. I guess I’ve been letting these thoughts run rampant and unexplored in my brain for quite a while now, so I’m just letting them out. When they run around under the lights it’s a little easier to see the parts of them that are false.

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