thunderstorm

I love a good thunderstorm. I love how slowly the fat clouds roll in, almost too heavy to move; how they hold out until they can't possibly hold out any longer, and then...release. Imagine what relief they must feel when they finally burst...
So I'm on a weather kick, I know...
Last weekend, over the holiday, the husband, kids and I went to visit my in-laws. I always like this trip, not just because my in-laws are nice people (if a little wacky about religion) but because it gives me a real break from the constant attentions of parenting. We show up, they shower the kids with kisses, I crack open a magazine and nod off on the sofa.
AND as a bonus, I can usually get some alone-time. So Sunday, while my father-in-law took my son to the grocery store and my mother-in-law picked up the spoon my daughter threw from her high chair 792 times, I snuck out to the back porch with my book, just in time to see some fat, round clouds rolling in. The back porch having a roof, I wasn't too concerned when the drops started falling. By the time I realized that I'd have to walk around the outside of the house to get in (due to some oddity of architecture) it was pouring, pounding really, and for a moment I felt pure relief. "I'm stuck out here. Alone. No one would expect me to run through this storm and get soaked when my kids are obviously being well-cared-for...awesome."
As things slowly improve with my depression, and they are improving (dear god what will i write about?!) I notice the irritability and fatigue lightening...lifting, a bit. And while this is of course a very good thing, it leaves room for my mind to dwell on a more disturbing symptom: I miss joy.
Time was, being alone, outside but sheltered, in a thunderstorm would have filled me with joy. I'm weird that way, but its true. I would have sat still & quiet and breathed in the rain smell, watched the little rivers form in the street, felt my hair starting to curl and been filled with anticipation for the next lightening bolt or thunderclap. Now, I merely welcomed this as an excuse not to care for my children.
Time was, I didn't want a break from my kids, or at least not so many breaks, because spending time with them filled me with a pure joy. Of course there were exasperating moments. Of course it was tiring and sometimes mundane - the feeding, the changing, the getting them to sleep. But still, in the back somewhere past all that, there was joy.
I don't really feel like the joy isn't there anymore so much as I can't get past 'all that' to the back to dwell in it...
I have storm clouds gathering in my life right now, and watching them slowly roll in, almost too heavy to move, fills me with a dread that thunderstorms haven't inspired in me since I was a child myself.