I've been thinking a lot about my heart.
This past week I've been really busy, with work and art for a ladies retreat. I have had gloriously messy hands at least three times. That is a good, good things. Put a messy medium in my hands and let me create and I'm happy. Remind me to tell you about my daydreams.
Since my time has been so full, I haven't had as much time to think about anything else, including the sweethearts. I was musing on that fact the other day and I was struck with a visual.
Picture my heart as a house. When I found out I was pregnant, my heart was full. Sunshine and laughter filled every corner. It was like sitting outside, soft, warm summer sunshine bathing in the green of the leaves on trees surrounding you. It was magical. Every one of those special "momma smiles" seem to hang on the walls, like so many portraits. Friends and family are welcomed in, each leaving a note or present. Even so, there is really only your husband and you and them. You hold them, dance with them and try not to fear over what you will never be able to control.
And then it's different. The rooms get grey-ier. All hope isn't gone, the colors just change. Laughter drifts out. You find fingerprints on windows, but can't find the hands. Its like when you walk in a room that was filled with people and now is suddenly empty and you laugh nervously, wondering what the joke is and when everyone will come pouring back in.
That all slowly changes. The glitter returns. You feel the absence, but it's not as strong. You look around and notice a room. Somehow, at some point, you've moved them there.
I can't pinpoint when it happened.
I can still walk in the room and catch a whiff of sunshine, a touch of warmth. There's a blanket, giggling and Amelia Bedelia books. It's just now, they are in there for the most part, where I can visit without being overwhelmed.
I'll still step on the emotional lego from time to time. That's okay though. Just because it hurts, that doesn't mean it's bad.