I was splayed out on the brown couch, eating my daily (OK, twice daily) mint chocolate chip Popsicle, imagining his birth.
I was eight months along, gearing myself up for what would be a miraculous, life-altering event, one that billions of women had experienced before me.
If humans invented a drug to mitigate the pain of childbirth, I was all in.
Not wanting to hoist myself up unless there was an emergency or I needed another Popsicle, I waited.
Maybe it was just a tree limb scraping against the house, or a harmless lizard.
Persons:
we’re