Hurry Up and Wait

Six week scan is Thursday.

Today is Tuesday.

There is an eternity, yawning open between today and Thursday. I cannot entirely imagine how that Expanse of time, that chasm, can possibly be bridged. I know that some of the time will be filled tonight, as I go with a friend to a potentially important professional event. I will be distracted by nerves and networking and the foundation garment that I have to wear under my restrictive, but very flattering, cocktail dress. That's six hours, give or take.

I'll spend another seven or eight sleeping tonight.

Then maybe another seven or eight on top of that, sleeping Wednesday night.

But even so, even with all those hours accounted for, I struggle not to try to force Thursday to arrive sooner, simply as an act of will.

I read my body for clues that everything is all right. I have had no spotting. I have had pretty consistent nausea that seems to worsen later in the day. My breasts are starting to feel slightly sore. All of these are good signs. They point to good things.

But I won't be reassured until I'm told to be reassured, and probably - if I'm honest - not even then. Then I will just have another new benchmark over which to fret. New impossible chasms of time to cross on a ferry of my own fear.

I hope you're okay in there, Succotash. Feeling warm and safe. Growing. Drinking up those vitamins and chia seeds ad whatever else filters its way in there. I hope you aren't afraid. There's nothing for you to be afraid of. I'll be afraid for both of us, okay?