Instead of a full-length mirror, I rely on a framed poster for Mononoke Hime, and the occasional store window. Apparently, my tummy is getting pointy. My belly button protrudes when I stretch it– this pleases Kevin enormously. My pelvic pain seems to be doing better now that I’m trying to anticipate it. My center of balance is changing, which is more interesting than troublesome. I have a few chores I should really get done– not the physical chores of cleaning and baby-prepping that Angie and my brother will be helping me with, but stuff related to our belated taxes, and insurance, and so on.
It’s only the end of July but already it feels like the summer is turning away. I have actual pumpkins growing, and I’ve tasted my sweet tomatoes. Strawberry season is long gone. Angie is visiting right now, and my brother arrives August 6th. There’s a sort of baby shower tomorrow; Michelle has organized things among my farflung friends and family so that even though I only have around five people up here, many more will be with us in spirit.
Kevin’s very busy at work and totally exhausted when he comes home. Today he hopes to be home before midnight. Last night he had blood-shot eyes and a glazed expression. I’m glad I kind of knew this was coming. He’s finishing up the second-to-last work cycle before the project freeze; the final work-cycle will probably be just as bad, maybe worse. Life should loosen up for him around September 3rd. And I’ve heard that Cathy is visiting around September 13. Sometime in there, Zod is supposed to arrive. And sometime soon (but unannounced) after that, Pirates of the Burning Sea launches.
Upon consideration, it’s not that summer is closing her doors, but that they’ve finally finished opening and almost everything seasonal I’ve been waiting for all spring is here. I just need to take the time to live in it, rather than anticipating the excitement that September and onwards will bring.
(It’s not just the baby, either. I’ve been watching and feeling Zod grow for almost 8 months; I’ve been watching Pirates grow for almost five years. Even so close, the future is a brightly colored blur. And so much of it is out of my hands. I guess that’s why I have the writing, even now and why I’ll have to cling to it, even later.)