I sit in my office, the light fixture above me giving off a warm glow. It’s a little close to 6:00 pm. Early evening. The darkness outside makes it seem surreal. The Christmas tree is lit, the warm yellow of the tiny bulbs casting a mellow glow around. Red and white gift paper peeks from beneath the tree. I sit and I wait. My daughters should be home in a little bit. My chores for the day are done. I lean back for support and the stripes on my tee-shirt emphasize my bump.
Absently I lay my hand on my tummy and feel a quiver. I smile indulgently. The past few months have been marked by changes. Physically and emotionally. My usually rough skin has softened. My nails grow faster. I groan each time I get off the weighing scale. It seems like each time I turn around, one of the twins is hugging my belly. I get impromptu kisses. Most statements start with “When I was a baby…”
I look out the window for the telltale headlights of our car. It is silent and lonely. I pace up and down the living room. My gait has changed. I stand and look at myself in the mirror. I look tired. Tired and happy.
The next few months will be a series of this sameness. Of being aware of the changes within and without. There are times when I wish I could blink and wish away a few months. Then there are times I want to hold on. Hold on to the predictability and routine of our current lives.
I am aware of a seismic shift in the making. A re-ordering of priorities. A shift in the way we had perceived our lives. It scares me. I alternate between feeling excited and anxious. For someone who has loved new beginnings, this fear is new. And unknown. I stop in front of the altar where the Goddess smiles beatifically on me. I close my eyes in supplication and chant. I feel peace steal in. I force myself to smile and bend in obeisance.
I hear the sound of the garage door and feel relief. Squeals of laughter followed by sounds of boots being discarded shake me from my reverie.