“What do you hope happens by the end of this year?” My answers are based on varying levels of hope, probably lowest to highest and, as such, the related level of possibility from highest to lowest.
Quick answer: Survive familial visits (and enjoy them), deliver Baby, and get work accepted by a publishing house.
- What level of survival do I hope to obtain this holiday season? How long has it been since two halves of my family have come together like this? I would say the answer to the latter is a decade, perhaps. And I guess the answer to the former is: ride-out the stress, stay as rested as possible, and no follow-up seizures. I just have to remember what I wrote in a previous post–I can’t scare them away. They’ll be there for me and give me space should I request it … as long as I can rely on myself to request it; taking their time here for granted as needed for health and everyone’s happiness. At least we should get some great rounds of euchre in the process.
- We would welcome Baby early, including the perinatologists who have numbers showing increased chances of perinatal mortality if the pregnant woman has epilepsy. That was a scarifying issue to hear in the early months and proof why we have these experts. They consider inducement whereas I am hoping my body makes the decision to be early naturally. He would also be a ‘tax baby,’ as I have been informed by many interested parties. Plus, it would be nice to receive a reprieve from heartburn and clothes shopping for less than a month’s worth of wearing. Finally and most exciting, we would meet our newest miracle! His future lies before us. Experienced parents might say, enjoy the time you have now, but I can hope as well.
- Perhaps I should change the last item to merely receiving a response from the publishing houses I await. They are overdue, and, at this point, no news is no longer regarded as good news when you consider my weakening resolve and amputated ambition. Of course a negative response would be the opposite of hope happening but then something would be happening. Patience, yes, I hear it inside my head from my supportive relatives/friends. Maybe that’s why I type it out here–so I can receive more than the redundant answer of patience, more like acknowledgment but no answer, or perhaps so I can merely record the interval in between submission and response, because that time can be overlooked once the future lies behind us.
So there it is–letting my fingers fly, mostly a free-write but making sure it flows with limited grammatical errors and that I expressed myself in a way I think you will receive which comes similar to my intent. NaBloPoMo looks to become my daily cleansing session of the mind. Now my subtle OCD wishes to continue to a word count that is not an odd number, preferring something not ending in a nine … or … three.