Nothing is certain

Yesterday we went out to a nice Moroccan restaurant with friends for dinner. After, everyone came to our place for dessert. I baked a chocolate cake, one of my friends made cappuccino cupcakes. We talked, we laughed, I made tea for everyone while taking a glass of milk for myself. We talked about light fluffy topics like movies, and LOST, our holiday plans. I wore my maternity jeans for the first time with a loose long shirt and a shawl covering me. Jack still does not feel comfortable telling people, yet every minute I thought of my son, alive and vibrant, swimming inside me. I felt like those people in cartoons wearing trench coats covering up another person hiding with them.

Sometimes when I go so long pretending I'm not pregnant, I get afraid, wondering if I am making it all up. Is it possible this womb can sustain my son? Is it real that I am pregnant or am I one of those mad women who are so crazed for children they make up an entire pregnancy. Have I deluded the doctors? It's an irrational fear yet only listening to him on the doppler soothed me, reminding me he is here.

And then- today, I came downstairs to make brunch of hashbrowns, eggs, toast and tea when Jack shows me an ESPN special on Demarcus Ware, a football player. His wife got pregnant and had a miscarriage, the next pregnancy they counted down to the second trimester and felt relief when she made it, then, at the 20 week anatomy scan they discovered the child had no kidneys and the pregnancy ended with a stillborn son. She got pregnant again with top-notch monitoring and checkups. They found out it was a boy and Ware talked about seeing his son wiggle on the screen, frown and grimace and kick his mother from time to time. And yet, somehow, inexplicably her son lost his heartbeat and she delivered anther stillborn son.

I don't know why Jack wanted me to watch. I guess the ending, they adopted a little girl they love, was an ending of hope, but for me I felt myself grow weak as I sank to the floor. All I could think of was, I can't lose my son. Oh God, what if lose my son? I can't lose you. I won't survive it.

I've let down my guards. I've fallen madly in love. He is as real to me as Jack, my brothers, anyone I pass on the street. And yet, anything can still happen. I can still lose him. Nothing in this world is guarunteed.

The other day my mom and I were talking and my phone died. I searched for my cell phone but it too was dead. I searched for the charger and plugged it in. Perhaps two minutes passed. When I called her she sounded shaken with fear. I've passed out a few times in my life, once quite recently and she was afraid of me home alone, passed out. I felt a hint of annoyance, its not like I pass out daily, her fear seemed a bit of an overreaction.

And yet- just the mere thought that anything could happen to my child growing inside me, just writing those words, my chest hurts, my heart physically aches and tears spill down my cheeks.

He kicked me just now, as if to reassure me that he is here, not going anywhere. But- nothing in this world is certain. We live entirely on hope that things will be okay and have faith that we may get through what does not go as planned. Nothing is certain. After I finished sobbing I told Jack I wish so badly sometimes that I could be an ignorant pregnant person. Someone who did not know how much was at stake. How much there was to lose.