for my next act

I feel like I should be ready for something.   Note the *should* in there. Never a good sign.

Much of me thinks the next thing is another baby. Body= ready. Husband= ready. Brain= ready. Age=hurrythehellup.

But at 43 (gulp) things are not instant. And what to do with my few available waking energies and fleeting moments. I know I can make laundry obsess-er, meal planner, nap police and supply manager a near full-time job.  While is it not entirely 'un' satisfying, the bloom is nearing its peak on household running.

I don't have much energy to do anything very time consuming or brain taxing.

Mostly, I find in the few spare minutes to myself, I want very much to read. And then very much to sleep. And possibly have some time to stare at the TV with sole control of the remote.  The end. That feels almost enough right now. Yet, I judge.

Coach? Surely I could be using my nice coaching abilities to reach out, do more get more clients, learn more things.

Exercise? I see new-ish moms in the park, running in a pack with their prams all a jiggle, encouraged from a skinny guy wearing shorts and asking for "10 more" push ups.  A real workout? (Besides the 54 stairs I carry a 26 pound boy up thrice daily.)

Clean? Well, that seems much more like home-making again. And really.

Write? My pal Lexie always has something new up her sleeve and has written a little book. I am envious of her enthusiasm and determination. I'd love to write something more substantial then the 5 items needed at Sainsburys on tiny scraps of paper.

It all seems a bit daunting. Just going into town on my own feels a little like I am visiting a foreign land. I am not sure I am really ready for any big changes. Except the kind that take 9 months to cook.

My next act.

I know there is one. I just don't know what it is.   I hope it is something really interesting and compels me and calls me forward to be brave and stand tall and feel alive and do my best. I hope it involves a costume change or two. I hope it emerges slowly and when I am ready.

But in the meanwhile, this intermission feels important.  Now I just wish they'd quit yelling at me to take my feet off the seats.

slow ride (take it ea-say)

And suddenly.

It slows.

After what felt like a cafuffal of a last few weeks, I suddenly can see some space beginning to emerge in my head.

It is lovely.
The slow down has begun.
And I am grateful for it.

• Midst switching hospitals. (which feels like a huge relief)
  
• Starting to close down my Life Clubs shop (or pass the baton) only one more until post baby.
• Heeding my primal needs to eat and sleep in frequent bursts. (never underestimating the power of toast)
  
• Trying not to catch Mark's cold. (which is tricky as it requires a wide berth and no cuddles)
• Doing some bonding with other pregnant people we've been lucky to meet through our classes the last 2 weekends.
• Getting good, belly laugh and compassionate chat with my pregnant yoga pal -- who I am happily drafting off of, sharing a doula and a soon a hospital. Boys bonding over beers and buildings.
  
• Making lists of (probably) ridiculous things.
• Amazed at the longest, strongest nails of my life.
• Wondering why after a blissfully headache free 8 months, my head has decided to start to hurt again
• Spending time WATCHING my belly as Lewis rolls around, alien-style, contorting in ways that entertain.
  

Looking forward to an even blanker September.

And for extra measure, am checking out the (hilarious) International Institute of Not Doing Much.

Which I think everyone should consider belonging to for the rest of the summer.