My body has hit “Play” and there’s no pause button. My breasts have grown three times their size, though my belly at 5 months has yet to pooch beyond the size of half a grapefruit. Mothers unerringly give me a long list of complaints to look forward to, but I actually forget, sometimes, that I am pregnant. I forget that my life is about to change – is changing - dramatically. I forget that there are lists of things I’m supposed to do and not to do, as I hike and work. Then I get a little nudge at the belt line, as if to say, “hey, I’m still here.”
I find myself humming little tunes to the movement below my belly button. I don’t know what is there, a boy or a girl, or if they will be a scientist or an artist or both. Will they have a sense of humor? An allergy? An ear for music? This carefully-planned creation is as much a mystery to me as an ill-timed possibility of 10 years ago. Will I get to show them the world, and let them discover it for themselves? Will they come to curse the world we’ve borrowed from them?
So I hum little tunes, and I hike, and eat well, and wait. I wait with trepidation, with warm joy, and with curiosity. This is the greatest science experiment I have ever conducted.