I had waited a long time to become a mother. Not dramatically just quietly, patiently, year after year, smiling through other people’s pregnancy announcements while whispering to myself, one day.
My husband, Raymond, and I talked about it late at night, our voices low, as if speaking too loudly might scare the dream away.
When it finally happened, I felt equal parts joy and fear.
Pregnancy was hard. I was constantly exhausted, my back ached, my feet swelled. Ray tried to stay calm for both of us. He read articles, tracked apps, talked to my belly when he thought I wasn’t listening.
“This kid’s already tougher than both of us,” he’d say.
We planned everything carefully. Ray promised to take time off and stay with us that first week.
“I’ve got you,” he said more than once. “You won’t be alone.”
