Stuck

I feel stuck. In this house. 6 months quarantined. Even the backyard is off limits. Wildfire smoke and ashes in the sweltering summer heat. Hot, smelly, uncomfortable.

I am stuck. In my body. 8 weeks pregnancy hormones causing nausea at the thought of harmless food. Did you know ice cubes have an offensive odor?

All my attempts to escape don’t yield in life. I read the news to find more bad news. Fear, anger, hatred, conspiracy and division much like the smoke in the air. Toxic. Surely there is some change on the horizon. Alas, we will have to wait until the election.

I lie on the couch weak and nauseated. Is there somewhere I can go? I lament. Maybe we need to move to Hawaii.

My two little energy balls giggle and laugh, hang upside down on the ottoman, put stickers all over the ground, roll on the carpet, throw stuffed animals, noisily eat juicy watermelon. They are joyfully alive, thankfully oblivious to the stresses of life.

My firstborn peeks over my shoulder reading this blog. She chuckles when she reads about herself. And a smile comes on my face, too.

I suddenly feel better. Maybe stuck is a state of mind. Oh to be a child again!