Unease

I've been rattling around this space lately, anxious to post, but ripped in a million other directions every time I sit down to write.  I stop by, I click through to read a blog or two and maybe even comment on what I've read, but then I get distracted by other things before I can sit and write (case in point, I am in the middle of studying, and taking a break, and as I type this, the baby has awoken and is wailing, and thus far T. is doing a mediocre job of calming her down).  Really, current wailing aside, things are great--the kids, T, learning Spanish, my job.  Truly, life has been lovely.  And yet. . .

Something is gnawing at me, and I don't know what it is.  I feel unquiet, on edge and afraid of something that is just off my periphery and which I cannot see.  I am constantly worried, before breakfast thinking a half dozen worst-case scenarios of all different stripes.  I am slowly driving myself mad.

I think perhaps the problem is that I am waiting for the other shoe to drop, because things are indeed so good.  I know what it means to struggle, to work hard, to try to overcome.  I don't know how to exist in space where there is room to breathe, to live.  It's making me antsy.

Okay, I really can't listen to that poor baby any longer.  Daddy is lovely, but he's no mommy.