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?