I have refined my goals. I now have 6 activities that I want to become daily habits. They are:
There are so many things to write about, but I guess all I can start with, to avoid being frozen-by-choice, is with the here-and-now. It’s 10:15pm on a Monday night. I want/need to pursue my own interests again, but I also want to be there for my kid. (There’s a book called The Divided Heart that I’d like to read, about women who are split between motherhood and their creative interests, but I’m not allowed to buy it. I have a whole shelf of intriguing-but-unread books! I’m only allowed to buy another new book if I read 20 books from the Unread Shelf. It’s gonna take a while.)
My last post was 24 October 2014.
After everyone saying “first babies are never early!”, my baby came a week early. 9 November 2014. That was a crazy time. And another story.
He’s all grown up now. Has a respectable job, a sweet labrapoodle, plays in a band.
There have only been two times in my history when my-life-has-been-on-my-sleeve – that is, strangers have really been able to tell something about me because of my appearance. The first time was around university age, when for a while my hair was boy-short and dyed bright blue. I guess that told strangers that I was… weird? Or silly? During that time, strangers were sociable and friendly with me. They found me approachable. People would talk to me or ask me questions as though we were already friends. They would give me a friendly smile, as though they knew, just from my appearance, that I was a nice person. It was really interesting, from a psychological / anthropological perspective! It was also a really nice feeling. It was like cutting through the bullshit and the coldness of normal stranger-to-stranger interactions, and made it more human(e)-to-human.
I’d always said that I’d be happy to have a baby if I found a man who was willing to have the baby while I played the “father” role. Now we’re getting to the pointy end of this pregnancy, I wish I’d stuck to my guns. I’m at week 31 of about 40 weeks, and the baby is so big that he’s starting to affect my breathing. The shortest of walks leaves me breathless and feeling light-headed (such a charming phrase, but oh boy, it’s really terribly unpleasant, especially when you sit down and it still doesn’t go away).
All of the baby’s movements used to be between my belly-button and my pelvis (it’s not often you get to write the word pelvis! Or Elvis!), but now things are changing inside me and he’s decided a studio apartment isn’t enough – he needs two bedrooms and a spa bath. So now I’m feeling movements between my belly-button and my chest. Whatever he’s doing with this rearranging of the furniture/walls, my lungs aren’t happy. Pant, pant.
On top of all this, James has begun to casually drop the notion of “kids” here and there… his parents live on a farm, and the other day he said, “I wonder if our kids will like the farm as much as I do.” Oh, well, okay, mister! Next time it’s your turn. In a modern person’s world, I think it’s only fair that the man produces his share of the babies.