I landed in the emergency room again yesterday.
It was the usual fun and games, until I noticed the slight worry lines and furrowed brows as one technician after the other tried to get my baby to move.
I ate chocolate, no response. I changed positions, no response. I got poked and prodded with the ultrasound stick, still no response.
There was a heartbeat, though. Any joy I felt at seeing the little organ beating furiously was dampened by the fears no movement came with.
The doctor sent me home after a while. I’m officially in the clear and can have the baby safely, even though it’s still early. Since there was a heartbeat, there was not too much cause for concern.
Easy for him to say.
I spent the twenty-minute cab ride home willing the little thing inside me to show me something, anything, to reassure me.
The night passed with my eyes glued to the ceiling and the most horrific thoughts flying in and out of my mind.
I got out of bed in the morning and, for lack of anything better to do, made pancakes.
As a special Rosh Chodesh treat, we put ice cream on top with the works.
I’m in bed now, trying to get some sleep, but the baby is busy showing me exactly who runs the show here.
And so it begins……