I promise I remember the days of hyperemesis, when my body cried out for nutrition but always heaved it back up in a matter of minutes, halfway digested. Salad was the worst: those green, crunchy leaves would wreak havoc on my esophagus. I remember the ligament pain, the waddling, the stretching, the lack of sleep.
But somehow, I’m still thinking about you.
I’m thinking about those short, pixellated moments directly after birth with you sobbing on my chest, and me heaving in exhaustion. Feeling in real time what I’ve been feeling for the months before within my belly.
Yes, I still want another head to wash in the bath at night, baby curls encrusted with the day’s leavings. I want to rock with another sweaty head on my shoulder in the wee hours, to calm the fears of another sleepless one. Most often I think of my favorites: swaddling, nursing, and the burbles: you know- that gelatinous sound you’d make, trying to talk to me.
I am still thinking of you. Imagining who you’d be, what path you’d take. What disaster you’d be in my life, what sweetness, what exhaustion.
And I think: there are not enough reasons not. And so many for.
And I think: I hope you come soon.