At this very moment I’m having a cup of tea for my sore throat, the sounds of drilling are echoing through the house as Mike hangs new blinds, our house is kind of a mess, we’ve just returned from nearly 7 weeks straight of traveling, it’s drizzling, and there’s a baby growing in my belly.
People speak metaphorically about being pregnant all the time. I’ve certainly felt pregnant with a lot of things before: ideas, books, business projects, new ways of living, etc.
But this time, there’s no metaphor. I’m pregnant for real.
Back in late October I had an insatiable urge to look at houses. We had tons of outstanding business projects, but all I could get myself to do was obsess over Craigslist and go to showings.
“We have to move,” I told Mike.
There was no logical reason to move. Our home was plenty big enough. It was in a fabulous neighborhood. We loved it. And our lease wasn’t up for another 9 months.
Mike wasn’t psyched.
But, try as I might, I could not stop the house hunt. I didn’t know why. But I trusted. It wasn’t procrastination. It was something bigger than myself taking over telling me it was time to pack ‘em up and move ‘em out.
I wanted out of the city. I wanted a quiet street and a front porch where I could put a pot of mums and a pumpkin that no one would steal.
A combination of my persistence and my man’s trust in me found us a beautiful new home with views of the ocean. We’ve both always dreamed of living in a house on the water. The dream came true sooner than we thought possible.
Then there was the cooking.
Round about the same time I started obsessing over houses I started obsessing over cookbooks.
This was very odd because, up until that point, I had never really been someone who cooks other than out of pure necessity.
People had told me for years how much fun it was to read cookbooks. They told me about the joys of being in the kitchen and making nourishing food for themselves and their families.
I thought they were from a different planet. (Or maybe I was. Either way, I just didn’t get it.
But then I found myself joyfully crafting the menu I was going to cook for Mike and myself on Christmas Day. I was reading cookbooks for the pure pleasure of imagining the meals I was going to make. I was baking bread from scratch and learning to blanch veggies just for the fun of it.
I felt as though I’d been taken over by a Susie Homemaker poltergeist.
Plus, there was the “Doing Less” blog series that I felt like I just had to write. Talk about a portent.
Even though we had planned on waiting to start a family, Mike and I changed our minds. The little soul that lit a fire under my ass to move and learn to make almond milk from scratch was ready.
When I found out I was pregnant, the nesting takeover that started in the fall made all too much sense.
The details, should you care to know. (No, not those details, silly.)
I’m just past 19 weeks pregnant. In regular people time (not pregnant ladies and people with children under 2 time) that means 4 and a half months.
The baby is due to arrive September 20th. We’re choosing not to find out if it’s a boy or a girl until Baby Watts arrives this fall. I’m going to give birth at home.
For those of you who’ve ever been pregnant I’m sure you’re aware:
This is a wacky, wild ride. Talk about total surrender. More to come on that later, I’m sure.
For now, I shall say this:
I started a business when I was 18 so that one day I could have enough residual income coming in to be able to stay home with my kids. I wanted to be a stay-at-home family, not just find someone who would be willing to work to make money outside the home so that I could stay home on my own.
And, because often we accomplish our dreams but forget to notice because we so quickly move on to the next thing, I would like to take a moment and say:
We did it.
I can already feel a profound pull inwards. My creative energy is headed to my womb instead of through the usual portal of the interwebs. All I want to do is sleep, eat carbs, and watch Fixer Upper. And so, that is pretty much what I’m doing.
Thank you, 18-year-old self, for having the dream that I get to realize 14 years later. Thanks for envisioning this beautiful future that is my current today. Because you put the systems in place to make money whether working or not, I get to nap way more than I ever thought necessary, or even possible, and do what I need to do to take care of myself and the little nugget.
I don’t have to worry about how many billable hours I’m losing while sleeping or reading the Outlander series. When I set out to create financial freedom by the age of 30 I didn’t know this was how it was going to look. But it is. And it’s good. And I’m grateful.
And thank you little Baby Watts for already teaching me so much about slowing down, being present, and boiling life down to what really matters.
OVER TO YOU:
What’s your big dream? What future are you planting seeds for? What specifically are you doing to plant those seeds? I’d love to hear what you’re creating, so please leave a comment below!
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