Tuesday, December 7, 2010

The Incubator

     Typing on Facebook as a "note" vs an actual blogging platform such as this one poses a unique change with the way messages are read. Mostly due to the lack of rich text formatting, one cannot actually indent their paragraphs, include certain types of formatting that allow the writer to emphasize on words or phrases, and otherwise actually narrate whatever it is they are trying to convey with the masses.

     I start with this obvious paragraph because it was brought to my attention while trying to update certain statuses and notes. While editing my work information and personal history, (which I might add I decided to stop doing) I had to sit there and think long and hard about what it is that I actually do. I can claim many interesting and odd things I've done throughout my life, even as short as it is.

    Running through the list of odds and ends through my mind I found myself thinking of the most interesting jobs I've done throughout the last three years. The one that came to the front of my mind was my "career" as a Fitness Professional. All the grunting of men trying to impress themselves in the mirror, women coming to me complaining that they have not lost inches from their waists, and the overall satisfaction of helping someone else better themselves physically and 90% of the time, mentally. Yes, I can claim through certifications and just enough knowledge to consider myself one who knows what i'm talking about, a professional... but that is no longer what I do. I still keep with the paperwork, I still train from time to time with "clients", and I can boast all I wish about how much weight and how many inches my clients have lost through a set time frame... those are not MY accomplishments, however. Those are the boasts of the hard work they put into it utilizing my skills as a person who can write a workout down and get them going.

    Scratching that as a job title, I sifted through the thinking cap once again and came out with my "desert profession" as I call it. The Military is an honorable profession, and Veteran of a Foreign War is a title I wear proudly to this very second and will throughout my life. I deployed down to the "sandbox" to do what it is that they told me to do: break things, and kill people. Crude, but simple and easy to understand without a ton of jargon or military complications to go along with it. (even though there are a TON of small "minor" details we're not getting into) So, long story short, I went out there and got shot at, mortared, and all around bloody for the Flag and Uncle Sam. Some things I did down there were indeed "honorable" and then some things I did were not so "honorable"... comes with the uniform and the opinions of those who do not wear it. Along the same lines as the Fitness Professional, it is no longer what I do. I hung up my uniform, my boots, and my tags for reasons that are my own.

    By this time I am racking my brain. I'm running out of options. I no longer DO anything really... and then I received a swift KICK in the belly by my own yet to be born baby. Like a light bulb going off in my head, the idea struck me... I am an incubator! I sit here and grow people... That makes me pretty crafty. I am currently incubating, so I can certainly claim this! I hurry and type this in the "work information" box... and it comes up as something completely new.. like no one else has incubated before or even thought of it as a profession. Dumbfounded was not quite the word I would use to describe my sudden confusion. I know there are other people that are prego too. I see a plethora of pregnant women around here often enough to feel like I'm in a school of fish, and I am in the middle of NOWHERE! I know Facebook has to have millions of prego people... but not one of them considers this a job.

     Last I checked, I am burning 200+ calories around the clock, and I am constantly caring for something growing in my stomach like an awesome tumor/alien/it/anything else I've called it for the past 9 months that I can't wait to look at, hold, and even cuddle with. The demands of this is by far more invasive than any other profession I've held thus far, and she's not even born yet. I know a few people who consider being a stay at home mom a profession, and I agree, but I'm not quite there yet... or am I? I've been sitting here and pondering this while writing this wonderful passage of insight into my life. (Gotta love multi-tasking) I sat back in my chair, holding one hand on my belly and the other on the mouse.

     All of her not so little kicks and elbow jabs feel like a constant reminder of all the things that are about to change, and the responsibilities I have to not only learn, but master in quite a short time. I have not changed a diaper in at least 10 years, though I'm sure it is like riding a bike. (At least that's what they tell me) I know this is all just part of the process into becoming a mom, and being nervous about everything a few weeks before birth is apparently also normal. Normal like washing all of her baby clothes 4 times in Dreft is normal... lol

     I am coming to terms with the fact that I will have someone who is counting on me to know what to do. I am the diaper changer and the breast feeder. I am the solid ground and the spiritual guide. I am the discipline and the comforter. I am part of the Love that does not change. I am Mom. For now, I am The Incubator.

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