thirty nine weeks

Tomorrow is the day.

go gently & be wonderful

e.

thirty seven weeks + three days

go gently & be wonderful

e.

Rather than bore with the details of these final days of pregnancy, I will share a pretty photo or a lovely link from time to time instead.

***

A sweet print

My feet are swollen, but I can't stop lusting after these shoes

Watercolour and embroidery is genius

Love this bag and where did she get those boots?!

Good God, I can't wait to wear normal clothes again.

I am obsessed with this yellow and always lusting after bags I can't buy

Well, that was almost as fun as shopping.

;)

go gently & be wonderful

e.

This summer is proving to be relentless with thick humidity and singing cicadas.
The days are slow.
Between the heartburn, the heat, the aching pelvis and tailbone, a starfished toddler, and thoughts of the upcoming c-section and leaving Poppy, I get minimal sleep.
I  am going stir crazy though it has been nice to get out to the Early Year Center for air conditioned playing and circle time (of which Poppy wants no part).

As my heart aches for Autumn and feeling like myself again, I have found some {free!} knitting patterns I would like to tackle in the coming days, weeks, months...years?  Ambitious? Perhaps, but since money is tight and time is abundant I figure I could put my hands to good use making clothes for the family rather than buying them.

The Margot Pullover

Sweet Toddler Sweater Vest

The Eleventh Hour Cowl

Plain and Simple Pullover

Snug Toddler Sweater

go gently & be wonderful

e.

The heat mixed with the final weeks of pregnancy are taking their toll on this mama.  I roam around in an irritable, sweaty fog feeling guilty about the persistent disaster that is our house and all the things I haven't had the energy to do.  Perhaps it is the nesting instinct battling with the miserable blanket of heat and the inhumane girth of my 35 week belly making me mental.

But this morning, I pulled out my recipe book filled with retro photos of happy housewives baking pies and icing cakes, and thought I should fill in the front page with my name and the date.  I thought about Poppy and her brother or sister finding it one day, fifty years down the road and remembering the good meals and happy memories within its worn and sticky pages.  I thought about how precious these toddler days are.  I thought about how completely insane it is to worry about such little things as a clean house when there is mud to be slung and food to be mushed and explored.  We won't remember that there was a sink full of dishes or a heap of laundry waiting to be cleaned.  

I looked up at Poppy who was prancing and twirling on the kitchen table {her new favourite activity}and suddenly stopped fretting about the state of our sticky floor and the tufts of dog hair that breed and collect in every corner overnight.  I stopped and looked into those huge blue eyes and saw her joy and wisdom all at once.  I thought about my own memories.  My mom's house was clean; that I know for sure.  My gramma's house was warm and always smelled of good food, though I doubt if it was spotless.  I realized that we {and certainly Poppy} would remember the homemade donuts making our fingers sticky; the homemade bagels that tasted delicious with peanut butter and homemade raspberry jam; and the homemade granola bars filled with maple syrup, nuts, and dried fruit that would soon become a weekly routine.  I would rather they remember days of nature, painting, and baking than a mama who couldn't stop worrying long enough about the chores to sit mindfully with them.

There are days when I feel tremendous sadness that my days alone with Poppy are fleeting.  I worry that she won't understand the split attention and the inevitable exhaustion to come.  I worry that I won't take the time to sit nose to nose and coo with the little ragamuffin nearly enough.  I worry that I won't have enough love for two; as my heart will surely explode.  I know these are normal thoughts.  I also know it will all be ok and she will love her brother or sister and play endlessly with them.  It just doesn't change the fact that my heart aches when I think of the transition.

Letting go has been a theme in these past few years.  Lessons keep coming my way and I am forced to ask myself why I hang onto so many things that make me feel so tortured.  Is it for me or is it that I worry about I am perceived by others? 

I am learning to let go of the mess and remember the many recipes that fill our days.

go gently & be wonderful

e.