There were several changes that I made to my daily life upon realizing that I was pregnant. Somewhere I read that cat urine/litter was harmful to the fetus so cleaning out the cats’ litter box was instantly off my list of chores. But to be honest, that was always a task that I had avoided as much as possible. Extreme thanks to my [then] boyfriend [now] husband.

In addition to that unappealing job, I also found out that acetone is harmful so yep, there went the act of painting my nails, as well. Being honest again, I could never sit still for enough time to paint my nails well- especially considering the fact that I would have to do it again within a few days. When I was younger, Mom would sit in her rocker and expertly paint her nails. I explain this process as “expertly” as she spent hours in that chair, fancying her nails, taking the time to do something that helped her feel beautiful. Of course, this whole process may just be what I had observed and felt, but right now, I can own those feelings. A quick note to fancying oneself, I remember Mom explaining to me a few times why she thought applying lotion to her hands and wrists was so important. She said that while women can cover their aging face wrinkles with foundation and concealers, it is nearly impossible for them to cover up the wrinkles and age spots on their hands. And I did not fully comprehend this idea until a few months ago when I noticed that my hands resembled hers in that “aging” way. Anyways, I feel like my memories of her painting her nails was actually therapeutic. Perhaps I can find a picture to record here but if not, no matter. Some memories will never leave my mind.

Ever heard of nesting? Of course you have. In this context of this post, it is the act of preparing a home and space for a baby, for what’s to come.

I am not pregnant but I can not stop cleaning my house today. From the baseboards to windows, I want it all clean and sparkly. Extra furniture and “stuff” needs to be donated this week. Extra organization is required in order for.. me to go back to work.

Before we moved back to America, I had this grand idea of picking up where I had left off. With my business, with the amazing community I had left behind, and overall, feeling important again. Like, that people would once again depend on what I was able to offer- in the way of my services, the support I can offer, and the friendships that I was capable of keeping. Feeling needed is such an important emotion that, without it, some people feel useless. I can not claim that I felt useless while living abroad, as my presence was certainly necessary for our home to function, and my support was so important in raising my children.

And the fact of the matter is that I have applied for several positions since moving here 15months ago. A barista position that most probably was offered to some wet behind the ears teenager who would welcome minimum wage. An admin position in a business segment that I have absolutely no experience in. A rewarding position that I had hoped would be created for me as there truly is a need for it, but alas, it was never created. Now, certainly I shouldn’t feel like poo about that one, right? Lastly, although I never applied, I thought for sure a local grocery store would hire me. Anybody can scan a loaf of bread and besides, who doesn’t know that the SQU#4011 is bananas? So I didn’t apply not because I didn’t think I would be hired BUT it sounded like a position I would keep for a few months and then jet, and frankly, the better part of me could not do that to management. High 5’s for community service.

As the position is open and a body necessary for the business to function properly, it is quite possible that I would start as early as next Monday. This means that I have only a few short days. And this whole idea feels like a loss to me. After 10-years of my days being my own, I would be giving my precious time to someone else. Thing is, the phone interview has not yet been scheduled.