Halfway There
Today is the first day of the second HALF of my pregnancy.
Today, I want to throw out all my stuff and live in an Ikea showroom with no real belongings. I want clean and spare. I don’t want to save stuff. I just want to start all over again and live in a model home where the surfaces are dust-free and hold only a single vase. No mementos anywhere. This fantasy is completely contrary to my sentimental, pack-rat, cluttery nature. I want to throw out all of Lucas’s and Ian’s stuff too.
The asthma doc says yes, I can have my refill. Advair is the golden ticket to a real, symptom free life. I just want my damned refill. He gave me a bunch of CYA info about meds and pregnancy that ultimately concluded with him saying he doesn’t think we should change anything. I saw him just over one year ago. My numbers after my pulmonary tests are exactly the same as they were on July 17, 2005. So why the hell can’t I just accomplish this 3-minute yearly conversation over the phone or email? Why the hell do I have to go there?
I'm a busy freelance editor and writer, wife to Ian, and mother to two precious boys. I am living each day to the fullest and with as much grace, creativity, and patience as I can muster.
"Love doesn't just sit there like a stone; it has to be made, like bread, remade all the time, made new." —Ursula K. LeGuinn
