It is less than two weeks before I will get on the plane to see e.
Someone asked me if I am getting excited yet.
No, not yet.
I hate to wait, and excitement too early means nearly two weeks of waiting, and did I mention that I hate to wait. I hate it. Premature excitement would be frustrating and exhausting. I am preoccupied with practical things… travel insurance, digging out warm clothes, doing ‘pre trip’ organisation.
Though I am not letting excitement peak, I am letting emotions swim about unhindered, they float and compete with each other, shoving and pushing from one side to the other, and I peek in at them from time to time to check what they are telling me, pulling that one into line, loosening the other one a little. They are sharp and spiky and sometimes demand attention.
I plucked one out of the mire the other morning, it was new and persistent, fluttering at my stomach gently like a tiny butterfly. When I isolated it, all pretty and soft, it sat in the palm of my hand, big eyes blinking at me, squinting in the light, a smug half-smile on its tiny face.
I looked at it for a long time to be sure. It puffed up to show me just how big it could get, I rolled my eyes at it in a ‘yeah, I know’ response that didn’t fool it into silence. It danced on my palm, happy to be there, confident it would be fed and that I would be lost. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it just yet. I willed it away… just wait for a couple of weeks… I know I know, we hate to wait.
It spun about, showing off, and I let it have it’s way. Wave after wave of tenderness so strong it hurt my heart a little. When I had let it have its freedom for long enough, I told it to shut up and I swear it smirked, and finally curled itself compliantly into a little ball and stopped fluttering at me. I put it safely away.
Not yet. Not yet. Just wait, and we will see.