I could tell you about the fact that I got married two whole weeks ago and somehow managed not to post about it until now. I could tell you how incredibly anxious and stressed I was for months on end, so much so that I had to leave everything else behind, but how relieved I was to be able to find peace and joy and excitement once the time finally came. I could tell you how wonderful our friends and family were, how magical the day felt, how – despite a million seemingly disparate pieces – it all seemed to flow together into one perfect whole.
I could tell you about the week we spent in New Orleans for our honeymoon, about the live oaks and the cobblestone streets, and the ghost I felt tap my shoulder in the middle of our last night,
or about the three (yes, three) baby goats that were born about 2 hours after we left, two of which had to be re-homed so they could be properly fed and cared for.
I could tell you about how I spent most of that week burdened with guilt and an overwhelming sense of unease, barely able to truly rest, and how once we did get home, there was no rest to be had there, either.
I could tell you about the fences we built, about the mama and baby goat we transferred down the driveway in the back of our ’77 Cherokee, about the fear we held when the baby got sick, the entire day we sat with and cared for her, and her eventual recovery.
I could tell you about her piercing blue eyes, about her strength and resilience, and about the way she crawls into my lap now whenever I sit down.
I could tell you about the poison oak rashes down my arm, the bug bites between my legs, the bruises, the sore feet, and the stress-induced heart palpitations. I could tell you about the car tire I gashed on a rock and had to replace a few days ago.
I could tell you about two more babies born last Tuesday, and one more born the day after. I could tell you about carrying goats in labor through the pouring rain to get them to shelter. And then I could tell you about the massive turd we found stuck on the bum of one of the babes that only came off after submerging him in a pot of warm water, screaming, for the 5 heartbreaking minutes it took to fall off. I could tell you much relief I felt to know it was nothing worse.
I could tell you that the joy and bliss and gratitude of our wedding already feels miles and miles away, though I try to tap into it whenever I get to feeling blue. I could tell you that the transition from the highs of celebration to the lows of reality has been really, really hard.
Or I could just tell you that everything is (mostly) okay now, that things are finally starting to calm down, that we still have to unpack and reset and write thank you notes and make some big decisions for the future. I could tell you I’m learning to accept that being “settled” is just a fantasy, that every end point is just another beginning, that I will always need more sleep and more clarity and could stand to lose a few more pounds.
But mostly, I’d just like to tell you how much I’m aching to get back to writing, back to creativity, and back to joy, but how grateful I am for having taken the time off, for accepting how necessary it was to just stop and let it all go for awhile, and how I still don’t know what’s next, but that I’m working on it. I’m here. And that’s the first step, the act of coming back.
For all the pics (wedding/honeymoon/GOAT BABIES!), visit me on Instagram: @simpleandgoodblog