Here we are again. The night before the doctor’s appointment. In addition to my traditional request that you remain alive inside my womb, (I’m getting greedy now) I formally request that you do something really cute for the black-and-white-sound-wave camera thing. Maybe some sort of signal that everything is going fine in there? A thumbs up? Do you have thumbs yet? Maybe the ol’ forming stump up?
‘Cause I had a very specific dream last night that when the doctor went in there, she couldn’t find a heartbeat. Then the bleeding started, and they sent me home, and I felt all of it all over again. It was real. Some might say, “fucked up.” I woke up with the breathing and the knots and I am having a hard time shaking that image and those sounds from my head. I’m not trying to be overly dramatic or to continue this trend of feeling sorry for myself.
I have trust and hope and all those other words that they paint on rocks, but I am smart enough to know that this does not always guarantee that there won’t be bad feelings involved. I am chill, baby. I am chill. I am chill. I am chill.
But your flash-in-the-pan sibling still haunts me. I still wonder about that person. I think, in the way that crazy women think, that that person was a girl. And it’s even weirder to think about how YOU wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that person NOT being here. I think that you are a boy. I could be wrong. 50-50 shot, right?
Anyway, it’s all heady enough to keep me occupied on the treadmill.
Let’s have fun tomorrow, shall we? I hope it turns out to be picture day. God Save Them All if they do not give us an ultrasound.
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