I cede my writing time today, to do all the things I should be doing as a pregnant person preparing to support a whole human life soon.
I cede my writing time to sit in squats, descend into inversions, and move my body, all to prepare for the wild event of birth.
I cede my writing time to design and launch a new service for my agency, so that baby can get his Tundra.
I cede my writing time to make balanced meals with the greens and proteins and nonexhaustive nutrient requirements of growing a whole baby.
I cede my writing time to blast music from the speakers and dance around so that baby will come out of the womb musically inclined to our family’s taste (the cultural brainwashing begins).
I cede my writing time to listen to birthing podcasts at 2x speed, become an armchair expert in baby led weaning, and debate in my head for the millionth time what our official stance on pacifiers will be.
I cede my writing time to run to the nearest bathroom to take care of spontaneous nosebleeds and the misery of sudden-onset heartburn.
I cede my writing time to get up and lull this kicking baby back into an amniotic daze. Tonight it feels like he’s trying to sword fight himself.
I cede my writing time to go to bed.