Sandwiching it all in

This will not be my most inspirational blog. You're warned.
Not so smiling this week, not so whimsical, not so firm in my resolution to make sense out of disaster. Not much positive to say. Caught between that door and that clock. Anxiety creates immobility. I'm stuck.
If you've been there, you will know.
Just waiting, waiting, waiting for something to budge. For the next thing. In this moment there is little I can do to move things forward. Just be.
The family waits impatiently for its January addition, a dear little baby of one sex or the other. There is room in my heart for this new little child. But I am terrified, fearful that I won't have the energy and time to do my bits.
Don't tell me that grandparents don't have any responsibility. They do. My inlaws raised three grandchildren, providing emotional support, babysitting, weekend respite, spiritual guidance, endless shopping outings, vacations and hands on nurturing, after the tragic death of the children's mother. They did this for seven years. And supported all of the rest of us in whatever way they could, financially, spiritually and emotionally.
I don't anticipate another tragedy. I do anticipate work.
And then there's my mother. Medications out of wack again. Self-care dropping. Embarrassing loss of control in public spaces. Needing more than I can give. I feel guilty. Expectations of self and other I can't meet.
This member of the sandwich generation feels a little squashed. I wish I could find something really profound to say about it, some enlightened little word to make it feel better. I feel I am hopelessly narcissistic. Can't help it. Just need to let time pass. To remember to breathe in this tight spot, and to believe there is meaning in it all somewhere.