Yesterday, I realized that - if all goes according to plan - I have roughly 100 days left of my pregnancy. It's crazy to think that there is such a finite number of days left of life as I've come to know it. That is, a life of "whatever, whenever." Whenever lunchtimes. Whenever wake-ups. Whatever I want to do, Whenever I want to do it, with relatively few limitations or obligations.
I asked my friends on Facebook what they would do if they knew that 100 days was all that stood between them and parenthood, and here are some of my favorite answers:
- Sleep (this was the most common one)
- Casually curse without guilt
- Have a shower with no one else in the bathroom
- Eat candy in the open
- Put on a horror movie and leave the room
- Have a quiet dinner
It's easy to see, based on the answers, that the simplest, littlest things are what you miss of your childless life when you become a parent. I've decided to count down my remaining days by embracing these little things: peace, quiet, and horror movies. Adult conversations in quiet restaurants. Uninterrupted sleep and baths. And time allowed for more spiritual pursuits: meditation, yoga, gratitude, journaling. To hold myself accountable, I'm going to try to do a gratitude-related post a day for my remaining 100 days - even if it's just a picture.
Today, I picked tomatoes. When your head is abuzz with activity and you lose all track of time, the garden will remind you that the days are still passing. Suddenly, the bean vines have outgrown their trellis, the peas and lettuce are already well past their prime, and the weeds have gotten so big you can actually see them peeking over the top of the fence when you pull up in the driveway. Honestly, my garden this year is a mess compared with last year, when I wasn't coping with pregnancy symptoms and was able to be more vigilant. Even though the weather has been ideal - hot and steamy for two solid months now - problems run amok quickly when you garden like I do, square-foot style, with plants literally growing on top of each other. My tomatoes look scraggly and are hosting some kind of pest, but there are still plenty of gorgeous fruits to pick - probably more than I will know what to do with. I haven't seen a single zucchini yet, and my pepper plants are literally lost in the midst of cucumber vines and tomatillos.
I filled my basket with goodies today, the grass warm under my feet, the air heavy and thick beneath an overcast sky. I took a moment to reflect back to over 100 days ago when I first planted my tomato seedlings indoors, totally preoccupied with the week-old secret that I'd be having a baby just in time for when I typically scramble to get in the last harvest of green tomatoes, in the first week of November. If I could slow down time, would I want to? I'm not sure I can answer that question yet.
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