I used to come here and write my words down on the screen. But now, if it’s not pictures, and it’s not pregnancy, I just don’t know how to write it. Six months ago it was nauseous exhaustion.
Now, thoughts are too hurried. Fingers can’t type out stories, they can only google “pre-pre-pre-labour signs” and “second pregnancy shorter?” and “how to tell if labour is near.” I can concentrate only on tabbing through endless images of totally essential minimalist Scandinavian baby accoutrements: leggings with the perfect understated modern esthetic; plush toys of the softest, quirkiest alpaca, and whimsically tasteful objects d'art. The simple monochrome brings order.
And now, tonight, with my husband in Singapore and my girl fast asleep, I have the time to linger here, but all I want to do is go cocoon myself in the white sheets next to my sleeping big girl and prepare for the varied and sundry ways in which our life will be turned, ever so gloriously, upside down.