pregnant ponderings

So far, I've puked once, taken a few naps, and not lost my baby. (Keep your fingers crossed.) This makes me a lucky pregnant person, as compared to women who spntaneously vomit at all hours of the night, etc.

So being pregnant hasn't impacted me hugely in a physical way; instead, it's more like early spring-- change is small, incremental-- except this.

I'm easier on myself.

When I look down the pike-- we live in a rented house, I'm drafting a book I dearly hope will jumpstart some kind of novelist career, we're having our first baby, and it's a fact that I myself am like a two yearold child when tired-- I can see that there's a lot of stuff heading our way.

So far, instead of continuously freaking out, I've slowed down a little. I lie down after lunch if I need to; I tell my husband he has to take a walk with me before he goes to work on his building; I'm going to suck it up and pay the library for the book I.Cannot.Find (sorry, sweetie!). I want to be with K. more, as if I'm storing up our together-time against the coming infant-months like some kind of love squirrel. Before, there was a maximum I had to get done each day; now, there's a minimum.*

If I had to compare it to something, I'd say I can see that there's a long tiring hectic few years in front of us-- especially when you consider we want more than one child-- and so I'm pacing myself like a long-distance runner, because I don't want to race through the coming time, frantic about how much more I need to be doing.


*This is not to say I am advocating lazy cows, because we all know how I feel about 1: dirty houses 2: uncared-for pets 3: "i wanna be a novelist but i just can't find the time to sit down and write" and 4: blowing off professional obligations. So there.*