Fourteen years ago today, I welcomed my son into this world, on time and under-budget, thanks to military benefits and Wilford Hall Medical Center, proudly bringing to fulfillment nine months of waiting and hoping.
Come to think of it, I seem to do that a lot. (Waiting, not birthing.)
For instance, I planted seeds in a plot of rich soil along the backyard fence a week ago today. Tomatoes and tomatillos, peppers and cucumbers, okra and dill, all seasoned with a dash of MiracleGro. I realize I’m a little late to the garden party this year, the season half gone and all, but still I water. I wait.
Every season is feast or famine in this freelance world, and since I’ve been doing it so many years – to be flexible and available to my family — and work for some awesome clients, most days are like a 10-course meal. They call. I write. But it’s still a waiting game.
As for birthing, I also have one in college who is so smart she can do anything but can’t/won’t/isn’t declaring her life’s profession yet. Another a high school senior who dreams of faraway colleges yet can’t/won’t/isn’t declaring her top picks yet. Their choices, their decision. I can do little but wait.
Then there’s my one and only. Next time you’re a patient in the waiting room, count up how long you’ve been waiting, then tack on about another hour or two. That’s how long his/her family will wait to see him/her at the end of the day. Not a whine fest. As they say, anything, anyone, worth having is worth waiting for.
What are you waiting for today?