Birth

I watched with the sleep still heavy on my lids as the sun started to creep over the horizon. It seemed he too was still heavy with sleep, so slow was his ascent. As the first rays of light kissed the leaves on the tree outside my bedroom window, I noted the sounds of the morning as the neighbourhood failed in its collective effort to cling to slumber.

The birds were up and announced their waking with a chorus of chirps and the clipped peeps of song. The intermittent chug of a garbage truck, still down the block, could weakly be detected clambering its way towards our house. I heard the faint echoes of the bins striking pavement as they were carelessly disregarded once emptied. (This was not the habit of my king, but another.) The postman was on his way. His progress preceded by the sounds of dogs barking in turn. The sound of their sizes and distance marking his path so distinctly, I knew the moment he stepped off his motorbike to make a deposit in our mailbox. And I knew when he had rounded the corner and slipped into the other avenue.

By now the sun too had woken in full. His light touched my toes and warmed them with such enthusiasm I knew a hot day was surely in store. They were all at work. The birds were constructing, the garbage-collectors collecting, the postman delivering, the dogs were busy barking, the sun shining, and I, unemployed, lay in bed.

The heat on my toes propelled me from my safety between the sheets to face the misery of daylight. I too would find some gainful employment today. But first, a bowl of cereal is in order. Flakes of the frosted variety, the sugar negated by the 2% milk. (Or so I try to convince myself). While I peered into my bowl and pondered the mystery of the raisin, (don’t ask, how my mind works, it baffles me too) although notably, there weren’t any raisins in my bowl, the phone rang. It took me a moment to register it was my phone and I answered it with an eager cheeriness I didn’t feel. I listened. I can’t recall precisely what I said, so absorbed was I with the caller on the other end. But I recall distinctly the moment my spoon fell from my hand, the sound it made as it fell to the tiled floor with a repetitive clang and the grin that stretched across my face and threatened to shift my ears forever. An offer.

I had refused to let myself be pleased with the three gruelling interviews. They had gone well I thought, still, I had thought things had gone well before. But this time they were calling with an offer. When can I get back to them with answer? Get back to you? (Seriously?). If it’s alright with you, I should like to accept now please. (With immediate effect.) Yes thanks. And just like that, I have a job.

I’m elated. And so grateful. Lord knows my faith was dangerously low. The red light had just begun flashing on the dashboard. (Thank you Lord.)
It has been nine months. I don’t think it’s coincidental that a pregnancy is the same length of time. I believe these nine months have been a preparation for me to birth something new and exciting. I have gone through all the expected emotions, the hope, sickness, excitement, heartache, growth, nervousness, exhaustion, confusion, even the cravings (giggle) and surely the labours. But in the end I am confident in what has been birthed. I am stronger, braver and I think I have even learned a few things. Things that will serve me well in the days that lay ahead. Things that I hope have served you well too.

It is a busy day today. So much is happening. They are many at work and many more still waiting to join the effort. The birds continue constructing, garbage-collectors are still collecting, the postman keeps delivering, the dogs continue barking, the sun is gloriously shining and I, now employed, am getting ready for work. (Amen.)

Published by

janellerward

Laugh loud, love hard and live in the sunshine.

4 thoughts on “Birth”

  1. I've just gotten here from your tweets as we both follow the #befsummit, and I have to say – I'm impressed. Love your writing style; I'll be following your blog and when I get time crawling threw your archives 🙂 I'll be following you around on Twitter too 🙂

    Like

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