Seven weeks, 2 days and you are the size of blueberry. A floating pink blueberry filled with fluids and tissues.
I am also a floating liquid filled tissue. That's what it feels like. Ingesting calories, nutrients, expelling pee, sometimes vomit. Giving out blood for the microscopes to test. Everything is under scrutiny.
Resting, restless, resting...whenever I start to go all mental-judge-maya on myself, I remember that I am producing a LIFE, for goodness sake, what can be more important than that? How can I ask more of myself right now, other than to take care of both of us? It's a time to turn inwards, almost inside out. It's pratically impossible to ask of me that I turn outwards, that I go into the world and start worrying about worldy issues at the moment; Egypt, primaries, Brazilian government careers, salaries, etc., are all beyond my scope right not. I worry about oranges and fish. About cell growth and metabolisms. About rooms, curtains and blankets.
Mom and dad.