I feel everything.

Whatever that little switch in your brain that shields you from pain is called, I don’t have it. If I have it, it’s in need of serious repair. I am defective.

When I comment on your blogs and say I feel your pain, I am serious. I feel everyones hurt, anger, despair. I cry for the heartache of others, the injustice in the world and just about everything in between. I feel it all.

Well, you can imagine my surprise when this week I found myself not feeling a damn thing. Nothing. Zip. Just hollow.

The crib arrived and I braced myself for the wave of emotions. I planted my feet firmly and waited…nothing.

I opened the box and looked at the pretty white rails and nothing.

I assembled it and nothing.

I was confused to say the least! What was going on here?

Maybe I didn’t  like the crib? After all, it wasn’t my first choice. I gave it a good long stare. No, the crib was fine, pretty detail on the bottom, slight sleigh style curves. I still felt nothing.

Maybe it was because there wasn’t any bedding on it? Maybe it needs the set I am still plotting to get?

Maybe it’s because the room isn’t really a nursery right now? For licensing I need two beds in there, one crib, one larger one. Plus, it’s still our office. Maybe that is it? Nurseries don’t usually come with computers.

Maybe it’s because there aren’t any pretty little decorative shelves or pictures up yet?

Maybe it’s because there isn’t a glider in there. Every nursery needs a glider.

I thought and thought and thought. Wondering what was happening or rather what was not happening to me. Where were the tears, the excitement, the anticipation, the fear?

Where was I?

Ah, and then it became very clear. That little switch had magically repaired itself. My brain was finally protecting me from pain! What an interesting time to start.

Relief.

Dearest brain, thank you. Thank you for allowing my bruised, battered and shattered heart a little time to rest and heal. Thank you for letting my eyes have a few days to dry out and for allowing my dreams to be peaceful. Thank you for letting me fold those tiny clothes without piercing pain. Thank you for letting me see the stroller without feeling like the wind has been knocked out of me. Thank you for allowing my imagination some rest, my fears a day off  and my daydreams to hurt less.

Thank you for the break. I really needed it.

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