Stuck in the middle with you

There's alot of waiting going on 'round these parts. I am three weeks or a month away from becoming a mother of two, depending who you ask. My contractions resemble hot flashes, which leave my brow beaded and my chest heaving. In real life, I rarely sweat. It was one of those graces god granted me after strapping me with legs that only stay smooth after shaving for five minutes and skin that burns at the slightest sight of sun. So I am waiting, for my cervix to dilate, whatever that means.

And we are potty training Chloe, kind of, which involves alot of waiting. On the can, coaxing with water and books and promises that she can unravel all of the toilet paper ONLY if she makes a PEE PEE in the POTTY. And there's the lesser known, but quite revolting practice of watching your diaper free toddler cavort around until you see a trickle (or worse) and then throwing them on the toilet. We had the "or worse" scenario, which involved me silently gagging in the corner as my husband ran around the apartment with Clorox wipes.

We are on the hinge of major change. This in between phase unravels me like a braid of hair, once tightly woven. I like to be in knee deep, once change is visible, and tackle new situations. The waiting phase makes me bite my fingers in worry and fear. My eye twitches relentlessly. I get heartburn, the kind that cannot be relieved, no matter what ROLAIDS claims.

Waiting makes me organize in fits and starts, snap at my husband who is trying to keep up with my mood swings, make long lists of to-dos, and then finally only want to collapse in front of the TV to watch someone's fictious life unfold.

And soon the baby will come, and Chloe will be sporting underwear, and I will be more and less needed depending on the day. Life will get to that place when we turn to each other and realize that we can't remember it ever being any different - when it all feels routine and well fitting. Until the next great shift. I wish I could revel in the magic of life's revisions and adventures. But instead, I will always be someone who longs for stability, the familiar. Perhaps my passport will go unstamped, my tales less colorful, but I am most comfortable in the known.