Wrangler Dani

Last night, I realized that this weekend is Labor Day and we don’t have any awesome plans. To be fair, our lives have been a little insane lately, so it’s not like I’ve been missing oodles of opportunities, but this long weekend just snuck up on me. (We thought we would be closing on a house, this weekend, but instead we just have more hiccups).

So, in a surprising turn that surprises no one – I abruptly and suddenly sobbed about our lack of plans last night. Not because I need some awesome vacation every time we have a day off, but because somehow I’ve told myself that not having kids is OK as long as we’re out enjoying our freedom. Going for a long paddle with a baby might be a problem, so big adventures make me feel settled in our kid-less state. I’m trying to fix an ache that can’t be fixed with external soothing devices – which, of course, always backfire. So I cried, because, if we’re going to simply hang out for a weekend, we could do that with a kid in tow, and this realization breaks my heart all over again.

Before anyone says anything to me about going to the doctor or “not giving up” or how crying into my pasta is silly or anything else – don’t worry, I’m not always an illogical, emotional disaster. (“Always” being the operative term, ha!) I’m taking care of myself and we’re working toward kid-dom and I can’t wait for this whole thing to be an odd, funny chapter about the time that I cried at the dinner-table because Labor Day weekend was here. For right now, however, I’m walking through a season of sad, frustrated impatience – perhaps this Labor Day should be a time to recharge, reconnect and dig deep – because this journey isn’t over yet, and three-day weekends should be a time for hope and joy, no matter what we find ourselves doing.