That's what my gynecologist told me at my yearly appointment recently. About my anxiety, that is.
"You'll see, it will only last 8-9 months." Hmmmm...
His absolute optimism was hard to ignore and I calculated I haven't been myself for at least six months, so I'm almost there.
I don't know if it's sheer coincidence but I'm less twittery. My daily routine no longer requires executing a battle plan with military precision. I'm chatting it up with strangers. My natural inclination as unofficial greeter-of-the-world reappearing.
My role of Gaga has not been compromised. I may not volunteer to take my little ones to The Magic Kingdom right now, the most crowded place on earth, besides riding a train in India (I watch The Amazing Race). But our love for each other is always boundless and unconditional.
My confidence is unwavering and I can see the finish line ahead.
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