This spring seems to be all about me wanting to get on with the next stage. I am 30 weeks, 6 days pregnant today, and my cervix is at 3cm even. A good place. Since I think I’m going to be induced at 39 weeks because of my platelet issues if I don’t deliver earlier, we’re now looking at no more than 2 months more of pregnancy for me. Eek. It seems too good to be true. Hence I’m walking around in a impatient daze of denial. Waiting for baby.
My hopefully 8 more weeks of pregnancy are bound up with 4 more weeks of teaching full-time. Without going into tedious detail, the last few months have included so many experiences and so much information out of academia that confirm my choice. I am so not suited for this. Waiting, waiting, waiting for the end of the semester. Waiting to be part-time employed.
Finally, we’re buying a house that will get me to a big(gish) city. I am not cut out for small-town southern living. I just am not. I swear I tried, and it’s not about northern prejudice. It’s about never feeling at home, and being treated, openly, like an outsider. I don’t want to live my life, or raise Samuel, in a place where we’re tolerated rather than embraced. We’ve put in an offer, received a counter, and have accepted the counter on a beautiful house in a true urban neighborhood. True in the Midwestern sense, meaning it’s a house with a yard, but still in a city. I so hope no surprises await as we go through inspection and closing. The house has enough space for an office, and for a living room without toys in it. I cannot wait. Waiting to move.
By early July, all this shall be resolved. And if I’m not satisfied then, I suppose I’ve got a bigger problem.