Little One

25 days until we meet our new little girl

25 if she stays put

So far

She isn’t very great at doing what she’s told

Today was really hard

Last night was worse

The pregnancy insomnia kept me restless

And wide awake

Until 5:30 am

Thanks to my wonderful Baby Daddy

I got 4 ish hours of morning sleep

Before he had to go work

He made the breakfast and changed the diapers and wrangled the dragon

Unfortunately 

The heat 

The pregnancy

And my lower than average blood pressure

Combine for some dizzy spells and breathlessness 

Athena is relegated to Mary Poppins and puzzles

While Mommy recovers on the couch

Resting on my side

Sipping water and breathing in through my nose

I miss my Mother

When she first died

Missing her felt like a thundering wave

Crushing me back down at every other turn

Now 

Almost 11 years later

It’s a sharp unexpected needle 

A long needle 

That transfixes your chest for a moment

And then is gone

Leaving a tiny ache

Under a tiny bruise

A quick sting and then

You’re basically okay again

I look at my life and I’m okay

More than okay

I’m so damned favored and loved

“No good thing has He withheld from me”

Self pity is one of my tip top annoyances 

Especially when I do it

So

The dizzy spells fade and a small amount of energy threatens to come back

Instead of resting

I stand over the stove and make Lentil soup while Athena plays on the deck

Carrots and celery and onion

Spices and Lentils

Simmering in a tomato broth

No recipe

I just always know how to make it

While I stand

 Listening to the beautiful chorus of my daughters voice

Drifting through the open door

Singing while she moves dirt from pot to pot

My mind starts to drift to the explaining I will have to do 

When My Love gets home

Handsome and tall

With his hair drifting into his eyes

He’ll love the soup

But be fairly annoyed that I basically ignored his stern admonishment to “rest as much as possible”

And to “try not to do a ton of shit.”

I forget

Until I finally sit down with my daughter to eat 

That this soup was always her favorite

The last round of Chemo

I must have made it a thousand times

My Mother wasn’t a great listener

She was great at hearing your problems 

You could talk with her for hours

No matter what the trouble or sorrow

She seemingly always knew exactly what to say

She just wasn’t good at doing what she was told

Neither am I 

Neither is my daughter really

The sting fades

While my little one

 Babbles over at me 

Her bouncing curls drifting into her eyes

She expertly shovels giant spoonfuls of soup into her mouth

Exclaiming in between bites

And with great alacrity

“Oh Good Mommy!

Mmmmm Mmmm

Oh Good.”