The Art of Waiting...

2:00, 1:59, 1:58... Two minutes seemed like an eternity. I can still vividly remember standing in front of the microwave when I was a child, watching the red analog numbers tick down. Two minutes was the time it took to heat up a mug of water for my Mom's instant coffee she somehow loved.  I would often have the duty of making the stuff while she was in the middle of a project or occupied with one of my younger siblings. It was not at all uncommon to hear my Mom call (from somewhere in the house) "Shannon, can you make me a cup of coffee?" and of course I would oblige her dreaded request.  The mere though of watching those red numbers on our 1980's brown microwave decrease would make me want to scream. How could two minutes feel like eternity? It did. 1:00, 00:59, 00:58... Many times I would reach up and frustratedly swing the door open, practically ripping off the silver handle, to check if by some miracle the water  had heated up faster this time. No matter how many times I tried this, the result was always the same--lukewarm water. I even remember trying to pass this coffee off as the real deal. I can still see my Mom, turning from the project on her computer desk, grabbing the pink  flowered"mom" coffee mug, and taking a huge sip which lead to a surprised face and the question,  "Did you heat this up all the way?"  I learned at a young age as unfair as it seemed, some things in life cannot be rushed; even instant coffee. So I would wait 00.30, 00.29, 00.28...

 1 day, 2 days, 3 days, 4 days, 5 days, 6 days, 7 days....  Patience is a virtue, I suppose this virtue  has been my bane since childhood.  If I had only mastered this trait early on, my life would feel less frustrating right about now. Today my son is officially seven days overdue, or at least according to the doctor's calculations. It is super ironic that this child is late, since my doctor was completely convinced he would be at least two and half weeks early due to his size.  So I excitedly jumped on the "motherly instincts" bandwagon and convinced myself that I had a "feeling" he would be early. It is funny how easily convinced I can become by the guess work of another person. Well I will not be taking my motherly instincts to the bank, they are not worth much about now.

7 days and 1 hour, 7 days and 2 hours, 7 days and 3 hours.... Why is being patient so hard? I suppose I set myself up for failure by foolishly blocking out a time for baby. Why not? Isn't that the way our fast paced, iphone scheduled culture has taught us?  In my mind, I thought "Well, he will most likely come this week so I will plan nothing for this time." I laugh at myself as these last two weeks have been the longest I have every experienced, mostly due to that fact that my days are usually overwhelmed with work and events and then...... nothing. As I watch the hours turn into days and the days turn into weeks, I realize I have that familiar and annoying feeling of watching those hideous red numbers tick down on the microwave.

7 days and 10 hours, 7 days and 11 hours, 7 days and 12 hours...  So after fighting the "old friend," I decided to force myself to embrace the waiting period. To simply take a breathe and 'be' in this moment. Never again will I be here, sitting with Jer, waiting for our son.  The business of life will soon pick up where it left it off, but these moments of waiting are beautiful and rare- I will enjoy them.

 7 days and 14 hours, 7 days and 15 hours, 7 days and 16 hours... and so the waiting continues, I pray the impatience does not.  I want to, once and for all, eliminate that childhood anxiety of watching the microwave and take in beauty of this moment that will never come my way again.