Starving Artist Ink.

enjoying… reading a book and napping.

excited…for the upcoming adventures of my best friend!

eating… roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob… followed by home-made brownies (recipe tomorrow!)

thinking… about how the journey changes…how the voices and emotions calm each others worries. how growth is inevitable. how far i’ve come, and how far i have to go.

thankful… that it doesn’t get hotter than this.. it’s hot, but it could be worse.

wishing…for water. to swim in, become part of.

everything has slowed down, it feels… or maybe sped up. i’m not really sure. it’s a mix between lazy long days, and activity that passes the day in a blur.

i haven’t painted in a long while… and though i need to (a commission piece), there is just no way for my hands to play against paper.

–

every month i go through a phase, as if i were a normal woman with a cycle. only my cycle consists of binge and purging everything to do with fertility, birth, and children. at the beginning, i am calm, my thoughts play in the intimate sweetness of just the two of us. thankful for our lazy days of enjoying us, of not having an intense responsibility, of being able to wander when, and far as i please… of having time-and realising that i am not as old as i worry.   the days pass by, and i begin to notice the empty space in my arms that would hold a child, notice the quiet at night-that would be full of the sounds of a sleeping babe. i take glance at myself in the mirror and see the body that could be swollen and round. all of this, very gentle, and loving… calm.. collected. (though in the past, the phase of when the baby stuff would start to come into play, i’d start getting eager-like a child begging ‘i want it now. i want it now’) and then there is around a week of immersing myself in birth stories online, envisioning it for myself.. of reading parenting issues-both good and bad. of studying methods for this and that.  and then, following-comes the mourning. in a normal case, i’d at least have some physical evidence to mourn. but there is nothing. only time. and the cycle begins again.

i’ve noticed how lately those childish begging voices from deep inside me are soothed by another voice, a calm knowing- saying ‘not yet… but you will.’  ‘nearly… a few more months. your babe isn’t ready yet.’

and with her soothing, i can give a slight smile-and know that she speaks the truth and sees the future. telling me to slow down and cherish what i have now, before i know chaos, before i know that love.