Another shift is happening.

Drops of water sit firmly, hanging onto the windshield. Little beads squeezed from the clouds, each barely missing the chance to remain a snowflake due to the 35F degree temperatures outside.

A gentle right turn sends them swaying to one side.

Despite their wobbling, they remain standing, tiny prisms refracting my life.

But they rarely last. Just as the soft tapping of the raindrops lulls me into a heavy-eyed trance, I reach a Stop sign.  My foot hits the brakes and everything lurches forward.  In one fell swoop, a crashing wave from the roof washes every last bead of water away.

Lately, by 5pm, I always stumble upon a Stop sign. Every fiber of my body responsible for keeping me vertical collapses, and I fall into a pile of goo.

Apparently lugging around an extra two dozen pounds all day while chasing a 4-year old, running errands, and climbing the house stairs, is finally taking it’s toll.

I have been mentally writing this post since Sunday, but not until today have I been able to muster the energy to string two sentences together.

So in these final weeks, while I struggle to stay awake, please know that I am still here, only slower, more cautious.

I’m just carrying a heavy load.

(35 weeks)

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