It's all fine and wonderful and steady and flat until that week when the body starts humming and whispering and the heart flies ahead of everything because maybe this month (maybe), and maybe the signs that have never meant a thing (the fatigue, the craving for carbs, cake, cheeseburgers, the moodiness) mean something different this time and right when it feels certain, it isn't.  It's just that week of that month.  That's all.

And the months start to pile up.  The language starts to shift.  From when we have to if we have.  Plans for that room which would be that room fade and in one weekend you make it into an office instead.  Your husband's aunt wants to know if you still want the family rocking chair.  You order a beautiful leather desk chair.

It's all fine and wonderful and steady and flat, it really is.  Until the body starts humming and whispering.  Until that maybe week and then the whole world feels like it is teasing you, the whole world feels like it is asking you the same question you've been asking you.  And if you're not careful, you'll read the whole world's opinions on what to do and how to fix things

and the months will pile up.

Your language will be completely new now.  You no longer casually throw those other words around.  You no longer talk about which month would work best for you (the carelessness) and what the budget would be like if.  There is a new humility here, in this space, and you can't miss its beauty.

There's a white shag rug in your amazon cart and yes, it's white.  Because that room is an office for now and maybe someday it won't be maybe and maybe someday that rug will get marked up by a rolling, messing, tiny thing and you're sure you won't mind at all if that day comes but you're living in this day.

Because it's all fine and wonderful and steady and flat until the months start to pile up and that room becomes an office and it's just that week of the month.  That's all.