Looking For Mr. Goodegg-VII

I went to my doctor this morning and I am exactly nine months pregnant. According to the ultra-sound machine, the baby weighs 6 lbs 6 oz. The “baby.” It’s still hard for me to refer to it as a “baby,” but at this point, his heart is beating steadily and he’s big enough to live on his own. If they went in and took him out right now, and some moments I wish they would, the chances are very good he’d live. That’s about as close to being a “baby” as an entity can be.
And yet…I still can’t believe it. Even though I look at the monitor and see moving pictures of all the working parts, I seem unable to grasp the reality that all of that is happening inside my body. I mostly feel like I’m watching the Discovery Channel.
My disconnection to the fetus feels familiar though. I felt the same way with Gabriel. Even before the infertility years, I had trouble believing I could really have a baby. So I never gushed the “Gabriel-cam” either. It is the part of me that clings to the belief that dreams don’t come true. The part of me that doesn’t want to be a “sucker.”

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