Thank you for giving me a sense for a new beginning. I will organize things, one by one, starting with the apartment and then make a precise plan for the other things.
Thank you for trusting me that I needed a break of not doing anything.
Thank you for giving me the will to continue into finishing all the things pending on my mind.
Thank you for sustaining of opening new career windows, I have already a lot.
Thank you for allowing me to experiment with making priorities.
Thank you for insisting on meditating.
Thank you for the health and the strength you give me so I can run, five kilometers with eight kilometers per hour. Marathon in sight, YAY!
Thank you for the love from and for the most awesome husband and sons.
Thank you for my hair – never been better.
Thank you for having my mom being as sweet as never before.
Thank you for the great time with my in-laws.
Thank you for finding the right people (and shows) for me.
Thank you for the books.
Thank you for the writing.
It was in the early pregnancy, the second one, that I sat exhausted on the bed and admitted defeat in front of my body and recognized its independence from my will. I thought: I want to be active and do this and that, and what not else, but the body does not. For all this time until then I thought I will always have control over my body. 25 kilometer and cannot run, no Body, we don’t give up, you can do it, let’s finish this marathon, it is all in the head, and so we will finish it. Well, I don’t know how to explain that. I made a quote back then and had it posted on my Instagram feed.
Now my favorite time of the day are these few minutes in the morning when I am just waking up. Woozy from the sleep, having forgotten I am pregnant, the baby in the stomach probably asleep. No acidic reflux, no cramps in the legs and no restless legs. My everything bodily well rested and fresh.
Then I take my four years old to kindergarten and I am already tired with the first step outside the house. Maybe I can eat something nice I tell myself on the way back. And I do, together with the iron supplement. I feel fine and decide on a chunk of chocolate cake, and the chunk becomes a quote of it. Later on, I wonder why am I so dull, and would I be like this from now on. Am I depressed? Should I force myself to get at least a little bit excited or maybe I should just leave the dullness as it is so I can maybe kick the bottom and from there will bounce up, hight in the circle of everyday curiosity and will to know what can be known.
My will to know and curiosity, along with the lightness of setting up for a task, are the things that I miss the most now when I am expecting and when I have to think twice if I will be able to pick up the fork that fell on the floor while I was eating the cake. I have lost the power of convincing myself that something is a good idea, and it is kinda funny because I remember days when I will have running thoughts in my head for what to do and how to solve this and that and will wish for some quiet mind state. Maybe now it is the time for that. If only my body was not so loud about its pain.
Now is the time when we should have the house impeccably clean, I think. For a first, because I get easily loathed when I see something hard to identify or something that once was fresh. And secondly, because the baby could decide to come any time now. Though my wish to have the house clean is strong, my exhaustion is even stronger. Whenever I get some buzz of energy, I clean around. Surfaces with some food remains are the most disgusting places for me so I try to clean these when I have the most energy because when I have the most energy is the time when I am not fatigued from being exhausted. Dearest Husband helps a lot. He does the cleaning – the nicely done one, and I cannot believe how attuned he had become with my needs. For example, yesterday when I puked heavily, I knew for a fact that there are no clean glasses in the kitchen with thin walls. I hate thick glasses or cups walls – I don’t even know why we have the one that we do. So DH got to the topmost shelf, got the boxed iittala wine glasses with the thinnest walls that we have and purred a cold fresh water so I could swallow the Paracetamol I asked for.
Today the house is again in a mess. I am running the dishwasher, but three key surfaces are still disgusting. The sink in the kitchen, the bathroom sink from the yesterday puking, and the dining table in the living room and the stove surface. A few hours back when I cooked the dinner for when the boys come back, I played The Good Wife on the laptop that I secured on the countertop where I cut all of the necessary ingredients for the dinner, so to get distracted and avoid seeing the mess. The strategy worked, now we have a nice dinner of turkey and rice in soy sauce, yay.
The baby did his morning exercises in front of my language study group, and now is probably asleep. The group I got with at the classes were one Kurdi, one Jemal (not sure where is he from) and one Albanian. I could assume that whatever culture they are coming from practices well covering their women, and there I was, seated next to astonished Jamal who could clearly see the alien in my stomach dancing underneath my tiny tight shirt. We played cards meant for exercising nominative and accusative nouns.
It is time to pick up my son, my back hurts from seating. My head is filled with thoughts staggering in a fog. One day my head will be clear and things will make sense, I hope. Tomorrow is the thirty-second-week exam with the midwife, I am looking forward to that.
Maybe you can cry
and I could see there is some life left in those running tears.
Maybe I can poke you,
and your skin could turn red,
Maybe I could kiss the redness with my salmon lips
and start a flame underneath,
of any kind
just react, just react.
While I was gone, I gained some weight, my son enriched his vocabulary with new words. I am still working on what I was working, but I also started applying for jobs. Somebody told me it gets 200 times to apply 20 to be interview and 2 to jobs to get, i.e. to chose from. Now, anyone who have ever read one of those articles named “how to spot a liar,” would know that I manipulated this information – because my facts were simplified. Not only that they are even numbers, but also they each start with the number 2. I also am aware that I am absolutely not allowed to write numbers with a number and not words if I want to be taken seriously, but meh, this is my blog, and I already lied to you.
But you do get the hyperbole, right? I am not away from the truth, what is the difference if the number of the interviews was 187, still – it sucks.
So I was saying that I am about to start walking that road, and I will start sending short stories to magazines as well. Have not done my research in that field yet, but short story seekers – here I come.
For now, though, I should finish what I have started, wrap it up and leave it behind.
And yes, I should lose weight.