mother lode

you eat
you move through your day minding your own business and are overcome by a craving. not a "wouldn't it be nice if i could have..." - no, this is some fight or flight primal "i need an avocado or i will DIE". mr. oncRN is sympathetic to these internal death threats i get. he'll often call when he leaves work to see if there is anything i NEED.

you watch
the metamorphosis of your own body. you're aware that all manner of flesh is being laid down. i understand the need for the weight gain. the belly? of course. the hips and breasts? sure. the backs of my arms? not so much. seems totally unnecessary to me.

you worry
what if it won't eat?
what it it won't sleep?
what if it's a republican?

you lie awake
in part because the little spleen kicker is awake too.
in part because you ate pad thai. and then m&m's.
in part because your mind races with equal parts awe, excitement, and fear

you love
the kicks
the privilege
the percentage of lycra in your clothes
your husband's hand on your belly when you fall asleep

you field questions
when are you due?
do you know what it is?
why don't you want to find out?
what are you going to do about work?
was this planned?

thanksgiving. no. we like surprises. i don't know. who cares.

you pray
for the patient you are about to meet with who had to lose her pregnancy so that she could get chemo and live. it pains me to know that my presence will pain her. she congratulates me. we wordlessly acknowledge the truth that good fortune is not distributed equitably.

you prepare
i'm no expert but this is my third, so i know a couple of things. i know that despite what the baby stores the size of airports will have you believe, you don't need much. from what i recall you need breasts, love, and patience for the first few months. i have those.
and diapers. i'll get those.