the perfect words

31 weeks into this amazing journey of miracle-nurturing, and I’m astonished at how blessed I am: to be entrusted with this sweet, tiny, perfect human being who will call me momma. And I’m blessed in everything that makes this picture whole: my husband, my little direwolf pup.

As the days pass, the bean grows. I can’t see him apart from the secondary evidence of an increased roundness in my belly, but I feel his little feet and his hiccups make me laugh.

The other day, I woke up to stillness.

The gray pre-dawn light streamed through the cracks in the blinds, striping our gray pin-tucked duvet that looks like storm clouds, tickling the gray whiskers of our little gray wolf.

I woke up, in that still light, and did not remember I was pregnant.

I never forget I’m pregnant in the morning. Sometimes I forget at 2:00 or 7:12 or during physiology lab but never in the morning. Bean is usually wiggly in the AM, doing sun salutations no doubt.

Getting out of bed requires some maneuvering, so I realized then that bean was uncharacteristically quiet. I went about my morning routine, trying not to worry. I brushed my teeth, I ate, I kissed the boom goodbye, I moved some light weight, I drove to school, I studied before class, and I finally emailed A because the fear was building and I needed to dig an outlet before it exploded, taking me with it.

He wrote, telling me it would be alright and that we could call the center if need be. As I was reading his comforts, I felt two little kicks.

I let A know, and here was his celebration of the news:


The perfect thing to say.




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