This Is How You Came to Us
On the birth of my son, Chance
You came into our life twice. First as an idea — on a normal Tuesday morning in late September, you materialized as a pink line on the pregnancy test I had ordered months earlier, after the third miscarriage, and squirreled away in the laundry room like some awful talisman whose powers could be dampened underneath layers of stuff: detergent, batteries, measuring tapes, Halloween costumes for the dog. Then, you were nothing more than a detectable level of human chorionic gonadotropin: inert and pure proposition.
The second time, you came with all fierceness; hammer and tongs.
On Friday night, Zack and I went out to dinner. I ate some bread and butter at the beautiful restaurant, as it was the only thing that appealed to the nausea that had stirred up every day inside me for nine months. The bread was sourdough, tangy and tart, and I almost threw up. After dinner we walked home, watched an episode of Arrested Development in bed, and went to sleep. Or rather, Zack went to sleep and I wiggled around in bed with what were becoming real contractions. Did they hurt? Yes. Was this it?
I went to the bathroom around midnight and saw a little bit of mucusy blood, and immediately called the hospital, which told me to come on over. I woke Zack up. I hadn’t bothered to pack a bag yet…
