I’m taking all the vitamins. Drinking all the water. Eating all the lean protein and fiber and healthy fats and leafy greens. Trying to sleep. With three kids under seven, that’s not always a reality. And a few people have mentioned miscarriage. I try not to think about it. I know the truth. I know all the percentages. But I try not to think about the possibility, because there’s nothing more I can do. I am literally doing everything I can do for a healthy pregnancy. And I don’t think about genes and defects and mutations. Because I can’t control that either. Once, a woman looked at Adelaide and said, “I’m glad I miscarried. My baby probably would’ve been like her.” I said, “You wouldn’t be that lucky.” Walked away. Why does our culture think it’s better to be dead than to be disabled? So even though I don’t focus on it, I know the possibilities of losing a baby. Having a baby who isn’t typical. And I still announced the growing human in my womb. As tiny as a poppyseed. This week is one of his/her most vulnerable weeks of development. But I still rejoice and buy maternity clothes and let Graham touch my stomach…which isn’t baby, but is actually bean burritos and candy from my Christmas stocking…and we just live in this moment. Aware of danger, but reveling in the beauty of it all. And I look at Adelaide and think, “You are more precious than anything in this world. Do not listen to the ignorant and misguided people on this broken, fallen planet who worship ‘perfection’ and think death is better than being different. They’re so very wrong.”
***Five minutes of raw and unedited writing.