I see her on the other side of the glass. She is happy. She has plans. She works long hours, takes on all the responsibilities. Bad things happen, and they don’t phase her. Everything is an opportunity.
I see her, holding that white stick. I see her, when the idea enters her head — “I’m late. I’ve never been late.”
I see her rummaging through her over-packed suitcase. She always brings more outfits than she needs.
(“What if I have lunch with the queen?” “In Orlando?” “You never know.”)
I see her, making herself busy. Distraction. It’s not going to be positive. It was only the first try.
I see her, when she’s waited that two minutes, and she grabs the stick, and she screams, “I’m pregnant!” Her hand goes to her stomach and she realizes he is real.
I see her on the other side of the glass, and I feel jealous. She had everything. She had certainty. She had hope. She had joy.
I put my hand up to the glass. I see her dancing through the grocery store. She pauses in the frozen food aisle; she stares at her reflection. She didn’t yet know he was real. She put her hand on her abdomen. She loved him anyway.
I see her, always. She had just put on the maternity uniform. She felt like she glowed. She laughed when people asked if her husband was excited. “I’m not married,” she’d say with a smile, one hand on her belly. She loved touching her belly.
I see her with her back pain and her morning sickness and the indigestion that made her want to scream, and she still smiles. It all feels temporary.
I put my hand up against the glass and I want to scream at her, “Enjoy this! It’s all just temporary!”
I see her on the other side of the glass, and this time I am pounding. “Don’t believe her! Ask more questions! He isn’t moving, and that’s not okay!” And I see it in your face. But you trust her; she’s the “expert.” And you don’t know how to know that some things aren’t okay.”
I see her on the other side of the glass, and my heart breaks for what we both have that the other needs. And I think this is the way of things. And I wonder, if somewhere, there is another pane of glass, and someone else, looking at me?
Related Posts:
Miranda’s Chronological Story: Planning, Conception, & Pregnancy
Miranda’s Chronological Story: Problems in My Pregnancy?
Miranda’s Chronological Story: 29 June 2017
