Just after a second opinion really. Can't talk to Husband about it because, let's face it, any more random psychological breakdowns and he'll be having me taken away. But as the move gets closer (please God!) I keep walking into the nursery and welling up.
I know what it is. There are two huge reasons why it is playing on my mind and I don't know what the solution is or if there even IS one?
My beloved Dad painted that nursery. He did it long before the boys were even being considered, I think it might have been the summer before we got married?, so it's not like he painted the walls with his grandbabies in mind. Well, maybe he did in a future possibility Hmm I wonder type way, but he def didn't do it knowing that Toddler was imminent. If you see what I mean?! But either way, whatever he was thinking as he painted our smallest bedroom, for some reason it is causing me no end of heartache.
One of the biggest 'pockets' of grief that I carry around in my chest is the fact that my children are growing up without him. And equally, the fact that he is gone and not able to spend the rest of his days with them. It's cruel and it's unfair and it fills me with a rage so violent that I can't explain it. But the fact that the room Baby sleeps in, the room that Toddler spent his first two years in, was decorated for them by their Grandad brings me a weird, disconnected level of comfort. Like, it's ok you never met your Grandad, Baby because look, he painted your room and he's all around you. Like, it's not the end of the world that your Grandad was snatched away from you, Toddler because look what a beautiful sanctuary he created to keep you safe.
All bollocks of course but sometimes you'll tell yourself anything to not drive into a ditch.
The thought of having another baby and bringing him home to a totally different nursery, one not painted by or even seen by my Dad, fills me with some strange dread. Like they won't 'feel' his presence. I don't even know what to say to that myself since the logical part of me replies with both 'well of course he'll be present in their new bedrooms because he is everywhere...' as well as 'well he ain't there anyway you doofus, it's just some paint, so it won't make a damn difference...' It kinda depends what type of week I'm having as to which argument comes up!!
I also keep thinking of the long nights sitting in the rocker, feeding them both, singing to them both, that one eventful time that Toddler (then Baby) looked me dead in the eye and then vommed in my mouth! One of my favourite photos is Toddler (then 14hr old Baby) having his first nappy change at home on the unit while Dog sits at Husband's feet watching intently. How is it possible to leave this place, that one tiny boxroom, that holds all those memories? Some days I am so so excited to move on and make more but other days, like today, I want to sit down in the corner and cling to the walls and refuse to leave.
I guess at the end of the day I must do what's right for my babies. And what is right for them long term is more living space, more outdoor garden space, a proper playroom, a big bedroom to share...all the things my Dad would tell me are worth the loss of a small room he once painted.
But you know, it's still hard.
