My Year of Living Domestically...

...starts now!

Well, actually, it started yesterday. I dropped off my binder of stuff to pass to my replacement and my copy of the office key, and that was that. A whole year of not working stretches before me. Well, you know, a whole year of not working at a "job". I live in a damn good country, with a great job that lets me leave for a year and pays me to do it. I am a lucky, lucky woman. And I hope to spend my year remembering that.

With my new found spare time, I've been reading "crafty mama" blogs (yes, there is a genre out there, and believe me, it's not small). They are inspiring and also kind of sickening, but I'm trying to stick with the inspiration. Did you ever think about making your own dog leash? Well, someone out there has... For my part, I am making some felt rattle toys and thinking about a bib.

As for the belly, it's moving and growing but showing no distinct signs of labouring just yet. The sun is shining and there's cleaning to be done, so I'm okay with a bit more waiting. Besides, I have toys to make...

Even despite the stretch marks

As I near the conclusion of my membership in the club of pregnant women, I am reflecting on what a privileged club it is. I mean, who doesn't love a pregnant woman? Strangers tell you how good you look. People actually do get up to give you a seat on the bus (at least, when you're as huge as I am at this point). Tough guys in gangsta cars give you the thumbs up when they see you wadling along the street. Everyone smiles at you.

I know there's another club waiting for me on the other side of this one - although I suspect the price of membership is a little messier (projectile vomiting and colic come to mind) - so I'm not complaining. It's just that I think I will miss the lovely percolation of these last nine months, as I wait for my life to change.

I am now almost unable to put my own shoes on (I can't even remember the last time I tied them), I can't sleep at night for more than a couple of hours without having to get up to pee or eat, and I need to sit down every half hour or so during the day, but, let's face it, I also have the best excuse in the world.... the excuse to make someone else clean the bathtub, the excuse to nap, the excuse to fart at will.

In a few days or weeks, I will be back to myself. A different self, I suspect, but still, an adult with responsibilities and expectations to fulfill. My full belly will no longer be a public beauty. I will, I am fairly certain and despite my best intentions, measure my body in inches instead of how good I feel today. When strangers come towards me with smiles on their faces, it will be for my baby, and not so much for me. This is how it should be. But still, I will miss the secret handshake of the pregnant belly club and the rare invitation to celebrate the skin I'm in.

Lucky and Blessed

This is just to say, that if you have the chance to be celebrated by a group of friends who have known you since you were 12, take it. There's nothing to compare it to. I have been given labyrinths, stones, candles, poetry and picture books, but more, I have been given five pairs of hands to hold in that inevitable moment when I don't think I can push even one more time.

Thank you.

Looks like I'm back

Yesterday, Kathy (my friend and colleague who is always looking out for me), made me promise to do something for her. She said, "every morning, I want you to wake up and meditate on the idea that today could be the day". By "the day", she means the day I go into labour with my first child.

So, it's Tuesday, less than four weeks before my due date, and although I had to get up quickly to let the drywallers in (we're living in a construction zone), I did spend a little time with that idea this morning. Somewhere in all of that I've decided to start writing a blog again. So here I am, with a slightly new name, a new format (thanks blogspot!), and, I'm hoping, some new things to say. I'm not sure this is what Kathy had in mind, but since I can't do anything about the chaos around me, I'm thinking a little writing might help organize the chaos within. Or at least get it out in the open to breath a little air.