Josh told me to take a few days off, and I’m trying my hardest to just dwell in the here and now before launching myself into the various projects that have been lingering on the periphery of my mind for the last few months.
For the record: waitressing pregnant is exhausting. I thoroughly enjoyed my time working at the pub, but am just as pleased that it’s over. I get to spend the next three months focusing on myself and the steadily-growing little person taking up space between my vital organs. Plus it’s summer and April is three, which she’ll never be again.
Snapshots from my past three months:
I’m lying in bed, aware of the shuffling noises beside me and the sun streaming in through the windows. My eyes still closed, I feel a poke at my cheek.
“Time get up mom. It’s a sunny day!”
I pretend to be asleep. More pokes. I open my eyes to see April’s face centimetres away from mine. She grins and wiggles and attacks me with her toes.
“But it’s so early,” I moan.
“It’s a sunny day!”
April leaps from the bed to pull back the curtains, showing me that it’s morning and blinding me in the process. It doesn’t matter if I went to bed at 9pm or 2am, there is no way to make a 3-year-old understand the grown-up desire for more sleep.
She squeals. I shush her and reluctantly heave myself out of bed.
“Quiet bean. Papa’s still sleeping.”
I’m sitting at the bar at the Burgundy Lion. I’ve just finished my last shift and Josh and April are out sailing, so I have no reason to rush home.
“It’s your last day already?” a night manager grins and shakes his head. “I’m sure we could have got a few more weeks out of her,” he says to one of the owners.
“It’s not that I can’t do my job, it’s that when I get home, I’m utterly destroyed.”
He pauses a moment to consider.
“I guess it would be like me working a shift with a 20-pound sack strapped to my front.”
“Yes. And then you’d have to walk half an hour to pick up your kid, go to the park, make dinner, and put her to bed before you get to take a break.”
That’s not to say that’s it’s not all worth it. I’m simply excited that there’s a new chapter beginning. And I like how it starts:
I sit on the couch with my eyes closed, breathing deeply, trying to push away thoughts of tomorrow and all of the tomorrows beyond. I exhale through my nose and look up as the wind chimes tinkle. Light green leaves sway and whisper outside my kitchen window and invisible birds chirp and whistle, punctuating the city noises of cars and trucks and the odd buzz of some far away electric appliance.
Time for a nap.