Honestly, it was a really wonderful year and a really tough year. This has been a year almost completely dominated by that cliche headline, pregnancy. That meant a lot of big bads — like throwing up once a day for ten weeks — and a lot of big goods — like the generosity, advice and support of so many friends, deepening those friendships. (Also, and it goes without saying, my awesome son.)
It also meant that John and I lived this year, from finding out we were pregnant at the beginning of March, really deliberately. From the Sherlock viewing party at spring break, when, suspecting I could be pregnant, I ate my last unpasteurized cheese and drank my last wine, to our spontaneous fancy dessert date after the Braxton-Hicks contractions started, everything’s had special significance as we experienced rapid-fire lasts and firsts. I suspect when I’ve forgotten about the heartburn that radiated to my kneecaps, what will stand out are the firsts of parenthood that leave you completely elated and weak at the knees: labor, meeting our child, seeing my husband as a father, learning to nurse and change diapers and stuff little arms into little sleeves without breaking off littler fingers.
There were things that didn’t turn out how I hoped, of course. A difficult job ended up becoming a major source of stress and anger, and I’m still a little frustrated at myself that improvement only came with leaving it. Plans to get in shape before our big Dales Way walking trip never materialized, because when the morning sickness came, my resolutions crumpled instantly.
But hey. I (still! stiffly!) hiked something like 25 miles and traveled abroad while four months pregnant, landed my first grown-up titled job (even if it’s just ten hours a week), and have successfully kept a kid alive for two months now (that’s at least 360 night feedings, but who’s counting?).
2012 was completely bizarre and lovely and landmark-y. I’m pretty excited to see what 2013 holds.