Summer-time in the Pacific Northwest is an interesting animal for me to witness. After months and months and months and...so on of rain, rain, rain, and mud (of course) we now have months and months of dusty drought. I feel like I'm watching Discovery channel episodes about some African country where there is "the rainy season" and the...not-rainy season; like some monotonous narrator is going to tell me that "this once fertile river bed" is now so dry that the zebras (et al) have to trek hundreds of miles South for a drink of water and green pastures. Yes. It hasn't rained since...well early July at least, which is when summer unofficially begins 'round here.
I'm told, by my very sweet neighbor-fella, Carl, that it'll probably start raining on or after September first. Which means it won't stop until next June or July, I guess. And so the grasses are either watered daily or crunchy, though the flowers retain their brilliance (so many royal hydrangeas!). And, in these verdant self determined days of spousal supported unemployment I continue to have moments where I feel like a pre-teen (this was before the term "tween" existed) at summer camp, sans the horseback riding, which I'm told is a no-no for preggers ladies.
I'm almost 5 months pregnant, which actually means I'm almost done being 4 months pregnant. People measure time in weeks at this stage of life, which neither Hadj nor I are inclined to adopt. We have the name chosen: it's unisex and a secret. I've recently begun wondering if what to do about my mom. Again. I want to wonder if that is solely due to my return to therapy sessions, but I know not to do so. I have always had a contentious relationship with my mother and her family, and this baby business, along with my jump to across the country to live in love with a new man, seems to have ramped up my need to assess the divisions between ME and them.