We sat in the overheated hospital room, hemmed in by a curtain and feeling very One Born Every Minute. Yesterday had been planned as the last day of our babymoon, with a choice between the museum and a forest walk. Sitting in a bleachy room and having me finally discover what a speculum is had not been on the menu.
I’ve instinctively struggled with the idea of gendered roles in marriage since we got engaged two years and two months ago. I’d like to think I’m closer to settling the matter in my mind by now but every time I turn a corner I find myself pausing, uncertain of where to go.
At thirty-three weeks pregnant, the countdown has begun. Laurence asked me yesterday if we’re in the third trimester yet. I pray he was joking. At any rate, I’m determined to make the most of these next seven (or five or nine or God alone knows how many) weeks.