Last night I had another dream.
This time, in my dream, I peed on a stick and it turned positive. I was pregnant. In the course of my dream, my belly grew. And grew. And grew. 
A swollen, laden, precious belly. 
I don’t wish every day to be pregnant anymore. 
But there are days. 
Days when I think ahead to not having a baby in my arms once Z leaves. 
Days when someone announces a pregnancy. 
And days when I just dreamed all night long about being pregnant. 
The truth is, I don’t really remember anymore what that feels like. Being REALLY pregnant. 
Not the pregnant where you actually have a live baby with a heartbeat, and your stomach swells. Not the kind where you get to do a registery, and people throw you showers, and everyone wants to feel the baby move.
I remember that there was a lot I didn’t like about being pregnant.
So I wonder why it is so much my holy grail these days?
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