Thirty eight weeks and I’ve hit my wall.  After all that “excitement” of pre-term labor symptoms a few weeks back, now it looks like she’s in no hurry to come.  So we wait, indefinitely.  And yet, we have to be prepared to go at any minute.  It’s a weird dichotomy and one I don’t thrive in.

I wish I was more patient, I wish I did pregnancy better, I wish I didn’t feel so miserable and could actually get some stuff done with all of this free time I have.  But each good idea produces another dilemma: I could take a nap, but then I won’t sleep well tonight.  I could create a sewing project to do, but then I would mess up my (for once) very clean sewing room.  I could do some extra cleaning but that just feels counterproductive right now and my patience is too thin to watch it unfold in front of me, knowing that I don’t live in this house alone. I could paint my nails, read those books on my nightstand, bake something, or any of a hundred other leisure activities that will be calling for me when my time with a newborn is short…but I can also excuse those away one by one for various, unimportant reasons.

So I pace and watch the clock, and wait.

It’s raining and chilly here in Indiana and we have a rare moment in the spotlight today.  I can’t help but wonder if we will be a disappointment to those who are watching us.  It seems we are all waiting for the weather to turn, the race to be over, the baby to come.

And those things aren’t ready yet, so we will wait…


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