May is a month to be impatient. Children slough themselves to the bus stop every morning, impatient for the last day of school to arrive. Businesspeople begrudgingly walk from vehicle to office fighting the ever-changing weather, anxious for more than one sunny day after another.
For me, May brings impatience for a different reason every year. Two years ago, I had hoped to get married in May but planning fell through so I was forced to wait until November. The entire month of May I paced and twitched and wished it was November.
Last year, we were shopping for a new home in May and I couldn’t stop my impatience from taking over yet again. I wanted to have our home so we could start our family. I was sick of looking and waiting for the right home to find us, I wanted desperately to force the situation to work out, faster.
And here we are again. May. Of course the lesson I should take from the two previous years of May Impatience is that everything always works out. The perfect wedding was waiting for me in November. Timeless and effortless, beautiful as all my dreams could imagine.
Our home found us, days after writing about how upset and restless I was. It’s exactly the right home and we were able to start building the foundation for a family immediately.
However, I am sitting here, impatient yet again. I’m thirty-eight weeks pregnant. My son is wriggling in my hips and flipping his little feet around inside of me…and all I feel is snappy.
I know he will come when he’s ready. I am well-aware that, “40 weeks is best”. I know he will be beautiful and perfect and everything I ever desired my child could be. I just can’t stop my own flaws from surfacing in a time of waiting.
It’s May, and my impatience abounds.