This weekend wifey told me I can't sit at home crying the rest of my life over the way I got treated at work. Like a bonafied behavioral therapist she instead took me shopping for the baby. We bought a tiny onesie for the baby and a pair of materity jeans for me. I even got my appetite back and bought me a piece of teryaki chicken.
I've decided not to care about work any more. I will show up and do a good job, as always, but I won't have any illusions that it will take me anywhere in this company.
I have an income, I have 2 blocks between home and work, I still like what I do and I'm still good at it. No office politics (or lack there of) can take that from me.
I also wanted to write about baby and how she dances under our hands at night when we lay in bed. Like tiny flutters of a butterfly, she moves agains our palms. She moves more when wifey holds her hand agains her. Like she wants to say hello to her other mommy. We dare to hope it's her, we dismiss it as digestion, we're convinced again that it's our tiny dancer moving inside me.
And then, ofcourse, this is the song she needs.
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"And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand..."
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