She knew the only way to prioritize was to
record everything. She had to make a list. She wrote everything down,
constantly adding and shifting items. Put up the fence. Get the roof fixed.
Take the car in for maintenance. Snow tires. Paint the walls of the nursery. All
before the baby arrived. As the list progressed, it became less a sequence of
tasks than a wish-list. Catch up on reading. Meet up with friends. Sort out the
garage. By the time she’d entered her third trimester, the list had become a
bit anxious, given how few entries had been completed, and crossed-off. Sign up
for swim lessons. Talk to her father. Travel. As she approached labour, the
list had taken on an abstract quality. Breathe more. Walk along the canal.
Notice the moon. As our first-born began to crown, she happened to glance up
through the hospital window and there was the moon, full and round and
constant.
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