Only Today

Time is going by so slowly, and so fast. Maybe it would be quicker if I wasn't feeling so lousy all the time, but here it drags, day by day. Maybe it feels slow because I haven't really told that many people, so I'm just waiting for one more week to pass to let the rest of planet know my secret. I approach the traditional end of the trimester, I find I am more confused and surprised than in awe of my condition.

I had this notion in my head that when I became pregnant again, once I was done getting over the initial fear, I'd feel this whole down-to-earth grow-organic-peas wear-hemp-sandals vibe, and I would glow with it. I'd be so happy about this whole prospect that you just wouldn't be able to shake the smile off my face. People would congratulate me and I would gush with all my pregnant emotions. But is that how I feel? No.

I have started asking people not to congratulate me. Part of this has to do with the fact that since I miscarried, reading stories about people who have lost their babies has really made me a pessimist. I mean, statistically, once I get out of this trimester, the odds are in my favor, but in reality they're just numbers. Numbers that said last time, you lose, no baby for you. And also in part because I feel like trash. Tired, nauseous, bloated, needing new bras and shirts, wearing a waist extender on some pants. I think I look like a whale, beached and bloated and dying in the sun, not some earth mother who's going to bring life. It's all been so terribly negative.

And I haven't even talked to it this time. I know it can't hear yet, but last time, I wanted to talk to it, sing to it, all sorts of things. Now I feel like I'm holding my breath for 29 more weeks, withholding all these loving feelings, just waiting for the day to come that something goes wrong. I don't think you'd call it depression, but extreme pessimism.

I realize that I have only today. This day, this moment, is all the time I have with my baby-to-be, who wants me to eat so much guacamole that I am really gonna turn green. I should cherish it, but really, I'm just afraid to. Afraid once I get too close I'll wrap my arms around the vision and it will evaporate into dust, suspended in sunlight but still dust. Then tomorrow will come, and I'll have to same chance, and today will be gone, and everything will start new. My body will feel different, my emotions will change, maybe I'll outgrow another pair of pants. Who can know anything? No one, that's the truth.

Sometimes, I all I can do is breathe.