luck of the irish?

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march is my favorite month.

let me count the ways: amazing son was born in march. this is him is at his 3rd birthday party, 10 lollipops in and no stopping him. why else do i love march… um, st. patrick’s day. these freckles go ape for Irish Awareness Day. love me some day drinking too ssshhhh. when i was younger of course. march madness. no, scratch that, i hate watching basketball. especially watching husband watch basketball. that is the worst.

i really love march, mostly because it signals the end of winter (even Punxsutawney Phil can’t stop it) and the beginning of spring, flowers, sunshine. clear skies. and this year we are really seeing the weather change now that march is in town (east coasters you may want to put on your ear muffs right about now). the other day it was freaking 90 degrees here. NINETY. nine zero. in march. no, i don’t live in the desert. nor in Africa. in fact i am within walking distance to the beach. it should never be 90 here, though. never. ever. thanks global warming! but to be totally honest i had no qualms about packing away the jeans and jackets and busting out the bikini.

but i digress. squirrel!  i think i was talking about march.

march is awesome, and at the same time march sucks serious ass. last year i spent some of march in the hospital losing a baby and some important reproductive organs. before that, march took from us the patriarch of amazing husband’s family, who was born on st. patrick’s day no less. and even a few march’s before that, this month brought amazing husband and myself our first pregnancy. which we lost.

march is bittersweet for me. each year that we celebrate amazing son’s birthday it hits me that my little baby boy is more and more a distant memory, that there is now a grown child standing before me. and no matter how much my heart bursts with pride and awe, watching him grow into a funny little character, i cannot help but yearn for those days when i could hold him in my arms (without breaking my back) and rock him to sleep. my mind wanders… will i ever have those days again? and then the regret surfaces. i regret not taking the time THEN to stop and truly smell the roses. i thought i WAS stopping. but i should’ve spent more time in the present. i wish i sat longer in the rocking chair, my arms numb and tingling from holding him in one position, just drinking him in. those little things, those are what i miss terribly. had i known then what would lie ahead, i would’ve spent more time soaking him up. hindsight is a bitch.

my mind wanders more… have i been wasting the last 2 years, totally distracted, taking my energy away from HIM while trying to give him a sibling? will i look back 2 years from now and pine for these very days? the future regret is even more anxiety-provoking than the one i struggle with now. these are my constant battles, the what ifs and coulda woulda shouldas.

oh march. i’m glad you’re here but can you hurry up and bring april please. or if you’re going to lollygag, can you sprinkle some leprechaun dust my way? i’m 4 days away from peeing on all the sticks and this Irish lass is down on her luck.

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