Today is the sickest I've been this past nine months. There is no point in smattering the details on my "enjoy it" blog, but needless to say, it's been dreadful. Chup was good enough to stay home from work to see to it that I didn't die. As I type, we are in the orange-carpeted nursery. He is figuring out the crib dimensions like a giant puzzle as I sit in my white rocking chair. The whole thing feels insanely surreal. Whose life is this again?
I know what you'll say. You'll say something like "hang on, it's almost over." I know it is. I mean, I really know it is. It must be because I caught myself refolding my lunch burrito over and over practicing the swaddling technique Sarah taught me on Friday. Not until later did I realize what I was doing this afternoon, playing with my food absent-mindedly.
Last night I read in the Book of Mormon about when King Limhi tells his people to rejoice in that the end of their subjection was almost over. Still he adds, "yet I trust there remaineth an effectual struggle to be made." (Mosiah 7:18). Is today's bodily purging the beginning of my last remaining effectual struggle? Will it end with a (well-swaddled) baby in my arms?
This much I know, I couldn't do it without Chup. His insistence of my comfortability allows for me to feel confident. Funny how that works.
Funny how it all works.