You think, “Okay, this is normal; necessary. This is the process of millennia.” And you stop thinking, and then you moan; deep and low and primal. And your moaning is an outlet, and you surrender to it, deciding to become physical.
The doctor had to leave. She said she would be back, but after she left, I decided I couldn’t wait. I asked if the midwife was available. I don’t think she was supposed to be on until noon, but they called her, and she came.
My water broke in a gushing flood. I understood then what women meant when they said it felt like peeing. I looked down, expecting to see water pooling on the tile floor. What I saw instead was blood.
Your donor has brown eyes. So do I. I still wonder if yours would have been green or violet or newborn baby blue. I still wonder if I should have waited just one more moment longer–surely you were only sleeping?