Another summer, another forest burning somewhere is bringing the smoke back. The world is monochromatic, apocalyptic, foreign, and I can’t see the mountains that usually tower around us. The other side of the lake I live on is a lost land.
Despite the fact that our summers here are short—and that I have an admittedly bad attitude towards rain for a British Columbian—my fall cravings are mounting. I want what moving to the mountains promised; I want blankets, cuddles, down jackets, and soup.
I am tired of trying to escape the heat and smoke, searching for the false freshness of air conditioning.
Pregnancy, as I’ve written, has been good to me, but I miss forward folds and higher heart rates and feeling light on my feet. I miss having my own glass of wine, and not having to sneak sips of my boyfriend’s. I miss eating full meals and enjoying coffee—rather than just drinking it for the caffeine kick. I miss my bike, raw oysters, and falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.
An impatience has replaced what for 8 months felt like a speeding train I wanted to slow down. An impatience to meet this little creatura—as the Spanish call new babies—who so far has only been a black and white ultrasound photo, a punch in my side, a mechanical heartbeat that always amazes us and fills our eyes with moisture.
I want to relish these last days as me, as us: going for impromptu overpriced dinners, skinny dipping at midnight on hot nights, long hikes, wasting away time at the gym, sneaking off to yoga, road-tripping to California…because we still can.
But more than that, I want to show it all to you.
I wish I could protect you from the fires outside and in. I wish I could shield you from the cortisol coursing through me from final-stretch work drama. I wish the green smoothies, belly massages, and deep breaths were enough to protect you from my imperfections.
Because now is the only time I’ll be able to protect you this much.