Of Baited Breath and Furry Sheepdogs...

I've logged in several times.  Wanting to express myself.  Wanting to share.

But being...paralyzed.

Unable to utter the words I want to hear.  Unable to wonder in front of everyone else.

Is it really happening?

Is it possible?

I am now in my 35th week of pregnancy.  Buttercup is still alive.  She moves about in comforting regularity.  I don't have heartburn.  I'm not nauseous.  I don't feel overly tired.  I'm still walking daily.  I'm still writing.  I'm still...being.

I've noticed that I seem to need Ferdinand close by even more than usual.  His comforting presence calms the nerves which feel raw and tender.  As if he can chase away the worry...the pain of fear.

He watches me constantly.  He even wakes me at night...as if he is concerned and wants to make sure I'm o.k..

It might annoy someone else, but honestly, it feels really good to be so nurtured and cared about.

My husband laughs that my beloved furry friend is neurotic.

I prefer to think of him as protective.


Everything is fine.  Better than fine.  No signs of trouble.  No reason to worry.
I've a bounty of friends, sending me encouragement in the form of beads, and girly beauty in all forms.  I've never had so much support in my life.  Everything points to a positive outcome.  I'm trying to be brave.

I'm trying.

As these summer days linger slowly... I am reminded of the necessity of breath.  It's not a unique need...to breathe.  We all need to do it, though it may be harder for some of us than others.

It appears that my little girl is really coming.  It appears that she is safe.

And in the meantime, while I am forced to assume the best possible outcome...I must breathe.
breathe.
breathe.