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As of today I have only six weeks to go.

Lately I feel like I’ve been on an emotional rocket coaster ride, up one minute and down the next.  I know intellectually that part of it is hormones.  But part of it is not.

It’s not the pregnancy I mind; outside of the vomiting and aching and inability to rise to a standing position from a fluffy couch unassisted, it’s not an unpleasant state – and of course the end result is more than worth even the unpleasant parts.  It’s that I am thoroughly unaccustomed to “staying home where it’s safe” while those I care for are in danger.  It’s not that I do not know how smart it is, or how right it is; I know that my most important role at the moment is mother, and I must do what is best for the children I carry.  I just hate being unable to act.  I tried for awhile to find some way to aid my friends and comrades from behind the scenes, but most of those attempts have been thwarted in some fashion or another — the final nail was pounded into the coffin of my last attempt when I somehow landed on a Kor’kron terrorist watch list.  Since then I’ve been more or less bound to home, with little to do but sew and worry, and it’s driving me slowly insane.

Meanwhile Westel is back on the front – on the Isle of Thunder currently – and it truly is the best thing for him.  A friend commented on the oddity of my being happier with him off fighting than home, but truthfully he handles ‘being home where it’s safe’ even worse than I do.  I watched him during those months where he was unemployed, pacing the house like a caged tiger, slowly strangling in his confinement, and it was a terrible thing to see.  Westel needs the bow like most men need water, and I would rather have him vibrant and whole – though it means seeing him less, and even at the risk of losing him entirely – than watch him become an empty shell of his true self.

He’s still seeing the therapist the Farstriders insisted upon.  He tells me next to nothing about it.  I know he considers the goblin he is seeing to be a quack and a fraud, but when he does tell me what the therapist says I have to admit that some of it makes sense.  Admit it to myself, at least.

The children are growing well.  Anais and Laurelia are both flourishing like wild blossoms in the lush forest where we’ve made our temporary home; they spend all day exploring the tall grasses and brush and trees, splashing in the creek and watching for wild animals.  Sometimes I take a book to the creek to watch them; sometimes when my back and feet are aching I simply keep a window open so I can see their little heads and hear their chatter and laughter while I rest.  It is peaceful and safe where we are and I have no fear of any harm coming to them greater than a bee sting.  Meanwhile our two as-yet-unnamed additions keep me awake most nights with seemingly endless kicking and turning – and between the four I have the most disconcerting feeling most days of being completely exhausted despite getting absolutely nothing practical done.

Kuvasei as usual is her own special case.  She’s becoming more independent by the day – which is the best possible thing that could happen at her age.  But it leaves us in sort of an awkward place.  I am still her mother, I expect to always be her mother, and frankly sometimes she still needs me as her mother.  But we also share many of the same friends and (increasingly) peers and… it has led to some unfortunate and awkward situations.  We muddle through.

She is yet engaged to Anetho Dawnpride.  I am somewhat surprised that this has not fallen apart.  I thought Westel was delirious – or worse, ensorcelled – when he came home from his meeting with the Red Magister decreeing that he had changed his mind and approved of the marriage after all.  But so it is.  I haven’t had much of a chance to actually talk to Anetho about it – I’ve barely seen him outside of him crashing my baby shower.  He does give marvelous gifts.

Aside from the Luminiars I’ve not heard from many of Nocturne in some time.  This is unsurprising, truly; given the numbers of trolls in our ranks, even most of our tuskless members have been joining their brethren-in-spirit in the Barrens rebellion.

Six weeks to go.  Only six weeks.  Then I’ll still have compelling and restrictive obligations of course, in the form of two new little Firewings – but they’ll be different obligations, and I’ll be able to at least start getting my life back.

I can hardly wait.

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