The mammal inside of me is taking up pounds of brain space. The "what ifs" and "how the hells" are creeping in. I fret about whether or not I'll be a good mother, about how I am going to possibly afford to feed and care for her, about whether or not I'll be able to deal with a new little person in my life taking up a majority of emotional spirit, and mostly I worry about becoming a boring mom in spandex with a jogging stroller. Over the last few weeks, I have had barely any physical or mental energy to make things outside of work, to socialize with my favorite peeps, to cook elaborate dinners, to concoct random events via Craigslist with strangers, or to clean my sheets and panties. I'm exhausted, sore a majority of the time and feel as though I'm slowly disappearing. Blah. Blah. Blah. But (insert shimmer of light here) along with fretfulness and fatigue, there is excitement and wonder. Glee slaps me in the ass just thinking about Ms. Beckett slip sliding out of my vagigi and into my arms. She will teach me aspects of creativity and play I forgot to remember as I grew older and more stone-like in my human training. Each day this belly rump grows bigger, I feel like I'm that much closer to hopping on a plane to the most interesting place I could go. Somewhere impossible to navigate. Somewhere aromatic and colorful. Somewhere where I am forced to learn the language quickly and efficiently. Somewhere I can call home.
