I'm still watching that pregnant cat grow larger and larger, stubbornly refusing to pop out any kittens, and it occurs to me how impatient I've been feeling lately. I've waited a very long time to get to where I am right now, in every sense. I'm in my forever house, that I waited forever to get. I'm back in Colorado, but I still feel separated from my old life here, like I'm waiting for a sign to open up some long-closed doors. I'm a career I wanted for at least a decade, but I still have no income. I keep pitching myself and falling flat. After thirty years of struggling, I finally have an overarching diagnosis that explains every-freaking-thing all in one neat package, but after a month I still have no complete treatment plan. I'm waiting for a referral for a rheumatologist, and I assume I will have to go through another round of tests to prove myself before any medications start. And even then I will have to go through trial and error phases with meds to figure out what actually works for me. Every time I turn around, I'm waiting on something else. I hate waiting.
My schedule rarely aligns with my daughter's anymore. I don't get to see her very often, for all that we live less than half an hour apart. She keeps picking up more and more shifts at work, and considering her career field, I know that she needs lots of sleep in her down time so that she is at her best on the clock. I've spent too much time waiting for us both to have a free day, so this time we actually plugged it into the calendar like an appointment. Boy, did I need it. We shopped a little, we had lunch, and we talked. Lots and lots of talking. We shouldn't wait so long to do this. She and I communicate almost by osmosis. But even with our seamless communication, it still gets backed up and hectic when we try to put a month's worth of mommy-daughter time into a single lunch and walk up Pearl Street and back. I came home exhausted after our rapid-fire catch up session.
When I got to the condo to pick my daughter up, I met Jake. Jake is a fluffy, fawn-colored boy who likes to walk past my daughter's windows and listen to Moosie howl. And howl she does, usually during sleeping hours. Jake is as friendly as he could be. He walked up to me, a total stranger wearing a big floppy hat, and asked to be petted. He even offered me his belly. There were little girls inside the condo who were less than amused at seeing their grandmother paying attention to That Boy. Especially when it meant they had to wait to go outside and play until he left.
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