Watching the Clock

A funny thing happened to me twice over the last few months.  Perhaps it was supposed to be a sign, but it was frustrating at the time.

I have a clock I bought for work.  It’s a dinky little wall clock I bought at Target for my office at my old job.  It was a little silly to buy, I admit, given that there are always plenty of sources to tell the time at work – my computer, my desk phone, my cell phone, plus wall clocks around the office.

I came to work a few months ago and found the clock had fallen off the wall. No biggie, right? Pick it up and put it back on the wall — good to go!  Nope. This plastic chrono-wonder had split and cracked in several key places and it could not be repaired.  I was bummed!  I referenced it a lot throughout the day, and I had also used it a bit like a mirror to see if people were approaching my desk when my back is turned – handy when I have Pandora blasting and am knee deep in figuring out why my calculations aren’t working in a spreadsheet (or, okay, maybe I’m checking personal email).  Plus, I was sad that it wasn’t part of my work decor arsenal anymore because it was cute.  Again, silly, but I liked that clock, m-kay?

Secondly, my beautiful watch’s battery died.  Josef gave me that watch for Christmas a couple of years ago.  It was sparkly and made me feel special to wear it.  I rarely went a day without wearing it.  It stopped on my birthday this year, when Josef and I were spending our last weekend in Montreat before the baby arrives. My wrist feels naked without it still, but I haven’t gone to the trouble of getting the new battery put in it yet.  Not a difficult thing to do, but it hasn’t been done.

So, recap: two different time pieces I adored no longer work and I haven’t done anything about it.

My priorities have shifted and I have slowed way down.  I am off the clock.

I’m almost 30 weeks pregnant and I am finding it difficult to care about what time it is anymore. Maybe it’s the lack of time pieces.  Maybe it’s the new life growing inside of me.  Throw in the time change this past weekend and waking up at the new 6:30 is really, really hard.

Ten weeks until little Baby H arrives.  I feel myself watching the clock, figuratively, for when he will get here.  I feel the urgency of the dwindling of time as well as the stretch of infinity between now and when he is born.  How can one amount of time feel so drastically different at the same time?

I’m so ready to pour my need to watch the time on this baby’s time, on his watch.  I’m excited to calculate time based on his being born: one day later, one week later, one month later.

Outwardly, I am telling time myself, with my body.  I am a walking waxing moon, with my baby bump growing fuller before everyone’s eyes.  This also is slowing me down, making time seem to pass more slowly.  It takes me longer to do everything – between moving slowly and being generally spacier, it’s amazing I get anything accomplished!

Folks at work are hurting my feelings more and more by bringing up my appearance.  I hate the attention to my body.  I think many of them have never seen a walking time piece before! They think I should be ready to give birth based on my appearance – but I know better.  It is not time yet for me — they’ve got the time wrong, and their perception of how to tell time based on what they think a pregnant woman looks like is wrong.  Their eyes large as saucers, they proclaim “Not much longer!” “You’re popping more each time I see you!” “You can’t get any bigger!”

Now I know how the moon must feel, how the watched clock must feel.  My work colleagues are willing me to be ready based on what they see, much like I have watched many a clock willing it to be time to be ready to go.  I’m sure the moon is frustrated when it’s called a full moon and isn’t, and 5:00 ain’t 5:00 until it really is, no matter how many grumpy faces we make at the clock until 5:00 is ready.

30 weeks – that’s a quarter til in clock time (40 weeks in pregnancy, fyi). 75% complete in a progress status. A quarter til seems like almost time to be done to the point it feels time to be done, but that’s not quite true.  I have to be patient with myself and with others this last quarter and focus on what really matters – this sweet little boy who I hope is eagerly watching his own clock to know when it’s really time to arrive!