Tom worked inside with windows open. I read my book on the screened porch. Our children were eight hours away playing on an even warmer winter beach with their Oma.
Today was productive, and it was lazy. It was boring, and it was satisfying.
Tom and I ducked in and out of antique stores. We wandered among sailboats. We talked about what it would be like to be adults without children, just as we do every time the kids go away. We discussed it as though it was a complete novelty.
We discussed the possibility of Gus
I spent hours making dinner, never once interrupted to referee a disagreement or to change a diaper. I never organized the sock hamper as I have been trying to get myself to do for weeks. There is no sense of urgency guiding my moments. I drank gallons of red raspberry leaf tea, gently encouraging my uterus to please, please not hold on to this baby for weeks after the due date. My uterus is the only part of my body that is not punctual.
Today was slow, and it felt like spring, and it hummed with good things on the horizon.