Tired

I am tired. 

Bone tired.

Muscle and mind and heart and hands tired. 

Tired like I’ve battled sea waves with only a breaststroke in my arsenal. 

Tired like I’ve scaled peaks, scraping limbs and carrying cargo all the way.

Tired like I’ve spent lifetimes under hot sun. 

Tired like we don’t seem to have stopped since I learned of this life within me. 

Tired like I shoehorn all of my work into three days of the weekend, 
all of the digging and carrying and standing.

Tired like I have not been on my own and awake, save in this moment, in as long as I can remember. 

Tired like I am creating an entire new life within my own humming, working, proud body. 

Eight weeks down, thirty-two to go. 

I am tired. 

 

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