Another. An other. The size of a chickpea, a heart no larger than a poppy seed, but the promise of so much more.
It is unreal as yet. Despite the frequent hunger and constant thirst, despite how tired my whole body feels most of the day, despite the breathless rolling mood swings, I still have trouble believing it. We had only begun to allow for the possibility of pregnancy. A lark, a laugh, a midsummer dare, we left caution behind six weeks ago, and four weeks later every test was positive.
I don’t consistently put much faith in astrology, but Thomas is so clearly a Libra that I was soon curious about this future love: An Aries. A spitfire, a rebel, impulsive and blunt and passionate. Due at the start of April, on the opposite side of the year from the first, a fool in the making. Oh, this little one! What challenges and adventures will it bring? From the start I called Thomas the trickster; who will this one be?
I’ve no desire to knit in this heat. We have most everything we’ll need, at least at the start. I haven’t even called our midwives yet. Instead I read Virginia Woolf and think about picking up the Greek again. I want to clean our house, though that could just be the result of coming back from a week of travel. I savor time with my growing boy, his body lengthening, his songs more elaborate, his person so charming. Less than a month left of summer, the grace period before the school year and pregnancy proper and more editing work. Two of my husband’s brothers with their wives and children due to visit next week, wanting to be at the farm, wanting to swim, wanting chips & pico, spicy ginger ale, shooting stars, date nights. Wanting to enjoy this time of we three before we are four.