Lately as I hope I am pregnant (and as of this post I AM NOT) everything I experience physically trips a switch in my brain that SHOUTS "Oh YES YOU ARE!" Tonight I had to rub my beloved Mary Kay Emollient moisturizer onto the back of my hands because they were so dry and tight. The last time I had to do that? Was when I was pregnant with Sydney. When that thought occurs to me all reason is nullified. The fact that I bleached out the bathtub last night matters not. Today's cold-even-for-California rain and wind – into which I ventured for celery and eye makeup remover – escapes my memory. I experience amnesia about the central heat that has been running in our home this week. Even all the dishes I washed yesterday after cooking a huge Sunday dinner for our family are forgotten.
The same goes anytime I have a taste for something specific. When I feel a little nauseated because I ate nearly an entire pounder bag of peanut M&Ms all by my onsies. When I'm tired at a reasonable hour (9:30 pm) after a busy day that began before seven. Any little twinge anywhere in my body that could mean any number of things must mean the One Thing.
It is exhausting, the constant wondering.
Tonight a new friend came over for dinner with her three lively little girls, aged four-and-a-half, three, and one. Over their shouts of glee as they chased dogs around the table and wrestled toys out of one another's grasps we exchanged pleasantries over biscuits and chicken soup, laughing at the silly little things our girls did and said, flinging ourselves out of our chairs every minute or so. The din of shrieking children at play filled my home. My heart tumbled over itself as I watched Sydney kerfuffle to the floor in a fit of giggly goodbye hugs with the two older girls. I nearly cried when I watched my daughter stand next to the baby – buckled and waiting in her carrier – and gently rock the car seat to and fro.
This, I thought, is what life is all about. Laughing children in a pile on the carpet. Yes, this is the secret.