Fetus to fruit comparisons are as good a measure as any. When I last wrote, in late September, at the end of the first trimester, we had a lime. Now, at roughly the end of the second trimester, I’m going with coconut (I like the imagery, the song, and a good margarita).
It’s been a long three months. We’ve made it though. Three months to go. What then? Don’t know – my least favorite state of being.
Living with adult children – also not a favorite state of being. Living with an adult child who has neither options nor prospects – really not good. Living with an adult child you don’t trust – genuinely awful. The pros: We love her. She’s clean, she’s got great prenatal care, eating healthy, and we see no threat to making it to the coconut’s birthday in good baby/mommy physical health. The cons: It’s basically a hostage situation on a tightrope over an abyss in the dark with a totally unsettled weather front looming.
Living in a state of WTF is draining. So, I’m reading and talking about mindfulness with some other women. Up until a few years ago, I’d have said I had it going on – I excelled in practicing grateful, liking myself, handling stress with aplomb, maintaining and sharing a sense of grace. Now, not. The first thought I have in the mornings when I wake (on nights I actually sleep) is how long until I can go back to bed. I’m avoiding making decisions, finishing books; I cry if you look at me (okay – that’s always been close at hand); I’m moody as hell; and frankly, bah humbug. Strangely, however, I can’t stop ordering baby clothes.
I opened one of my mindfulness book-study texts today – the first thing I read brought me to my knees: there was another life I might have had, but I am having this one.
Yes, yes I am.
P.S. Our lime turned coconut…is a boy