The last of the Christmas company left today, two weeks almost to the day after our festivities began. I spent yesterday down with a bout of mastitis, which I'm thankful seems to have been short lived. Today I spent trying to get my bearings without going overboard, since I jump full-bore back into the routine after that, with the exciting addition of a cardiologists appointment and echocardiogram Wednesday, and most of a day of back to back appointments with our new craniofacial team the following Monday.

I feel cloudy, muddled. Part of that--probably a large part of it--is just the tired talking. Narah has been sleeping progressively less and less for a good month and a half now, so I'm sleeping in two-hour stretches, if I'm lucky. Another part is that I was blindsided by November, this year, and still feel like I'm gasping for air. I think it's likely that I've been too busy to pay much attention to my grief since we moved, since we got word of this new job, since Narah was born. And I guess I forgot what they say about the second year.

I've been reading a lot the past few days, and thinking a lot. I miss this space; I miss writing regularly. But I feel like I've lost my voice. It feels like I can't put together anything coherent out of what's whirling in my head in the time I have to write.

Tonight (thanks to Molly Piper) I'm listening to this: