I haven’t posted in awhile because none of my thoughts have really had enough substance to spend time proofreading.
And if you ask J, he can confirm that mostly what I am doing is as little as possible, while still managing some baseline level of productivity.
What’s wrong with me?
I am 39 weeks pregnant, if I even blink too much I get contractions. I look at things that have fallen to the floor, head cocked with a quizzical, wanton desire to put it right, but know that to do so will cause substantial physical difficulty. Towels, stuffed animals, clothes, pillows, dish cloths, purse, toys… all. these. THINGS. down there. where I can’t get them. So I just look at them. As though I were wishing to levitate them.
So I have ended up on Facebook. Wondering, head cocked again, am I going to contact the people who I spent time with during some of the hardest years of my life? Or… and I am running out of other things to do.
On the timer: 33 hours until I go to the hospital. After which time J and I will be able to sleep in the same bed, I can explore the likelihood of wearing normal clothes, I will not be awoken by aching hips, and I will no longer get to feel Sylvie making herself comfortable inside my abdomen. In fact, right now she has my kidneys smooshed as flat as a dog ear.
Too much detail? Sorry. Welcome to my world.