“She’s fit for a strait-jacket. This broad’s fucked three ways towards the weekend. But you know what, Father? I dig it! It turns me on.”

I generally claim atheist with a side of secular humanist thrown in when discussing religion. I like the idea of being good for the sake of society as a whole as opposed to behaving (what is in my view) appropriate because I’m afraid of what will happen to me after I die. I do not believe in karma. Bad shit happens to good people, good shit happens to bad people, and babies die. Right there, proof against karma’s existence. Lately though, I’ve been searching for something. When Little T was lost while I was rocking G to sleep my tears would rain down on her head. I’m sure my body would clench, telling her of my anguish at the time she should be drifting off in a peaceful slumber having only sweet dreams. Before, rocking her to sleep was my favorite time, the thought of soothing them both at once, holding them together made my heart sing. Now she would fuss and squirm. In an effort to remedy this, I came up with a mantra; Mommy loves G_____. The purest simplest most honest words I could think of, to calm us both. I would repeat the words over and over in my head, using them to ward off the horrible sadness crowding my mind, the pictures I couldn’t help rising in the part of my brain behind my eyes. As though I were plugging my ears squinching my eyelids closed and saying; LALALALALA I. CAN'T. HEAR. YOU. I let the words fill all the spaces, and pictured them spilling over and washing over G. It worked, as well as any one thing could. My hippy sister (hi B!) said we need to manifest shit for ourselves in our own lives. Think positive. Make it happen. So when it was time to try again I searched on the internet for a Buddhist prayer for pregnancy. It is the religion I feel the most connection to, I like the ideas behind it. Turns out though, (please don’t be offended if I’m wrong, and feel free to correct me) Buddhist’s don’t pray for stuff to happen. They pray for acceptance and guidance about the stuff that did, is, or will happen. I wasn’t ready for this, but I also didn’t want to beg a god I don’t believe in for it either. So I came up with another mantra. I wrote it down, fold up the paper, and put it in my bra every day. I may as well go all the way right? (I wash my grocery list every single week, I’m not a good pocket checker, and I don’t want to forget it and for me; out of sight out of mind.) When I first started repeating it, I felt like a petulant child, demanding her way from the universe. When we got our positive pregnancy test, it felt like a reassurance of a very good possibility. I said the words to convince myself along with the universe. To counteract the butterflies that had taken up perpetual residence in my stomach along with that little one. We went to the Doctor’s last week, and saw on the ultra sound the new little one in my tummy. He was measuring small for the dates I gave them though. The Doctor was very reassuring, happens all the time. We talked about my fears; he said he knew I’d be holding my breath for the first trimester, to which I replied; “Most likely the other 2 as well.” He smiled. He recounted a story of another nervous mama asking when she could be sure; at what point could she believe everything will be all right? I said; “When he graduates college?” He chuckled. “Let’s make you an appointment for next week.” I know they should be once a month and he’s probably thinking; Wow, bummer for you pregnant girls can’t take Xana.x. I left still nervous. I want a guarantee from him, you will have this baby. But, that’s one he can’t give. Will any information ever be enough? Or will I spend the next 9 months in a state of fear? I was TERRIFIED for our Doctor’s appt. on Wednesday. I should have been barfing my brains out and lying on the couch in a heap of exhaustion by now. I am doing neither. Mild nausea for smells, some tiredness, nothing big. I worry that the hormones aren’t doubling as they should be because something is wrong; I think about him measuring small, I repeat my mantra more times a day than I know a number for. We settle back for some dildocam action, and at first I don’t see his heart beating. The Doctor moves the wand, and there it is. Pump pumping away. Of course I cry. It wouldn’t be an appointment with the man if I don’t shed snot and tears in the office. The baby is measuring fine compared to last week. He leaves when we’re done and I dress, still crying. J is…at a loss. “Ummm are you ok?” “I was really really scared.” We are given a due date, same as last week; April 8th. He asks if I want an appointment for 1 week or 2? I look at my husband, I know he doesn’t want to take off work early every week, but I also know he really will, even if I tell him he doesn’t have to come. He says; “It’s up to you babe, whatever you need.” I don’t know if he realizes that the one appointment he ever missed with G or Little T was the one I found out he was gone, and even though I try not to be superstitious, it sneaks in once in awhile. (All the time.) I take a deep breath and say 2 weeks, hoping I can make it that long. What I’d really like, if we’re being honest, is for someone to stop by a couple times a day to reassure me the baby is still alive in there, or maybe just insert a camera in the womb like that Discovery Channel movie, so I can just turn on a monitor and check up on him whenever I want. But I’m guessing that’s not going to happen. He tells me if I get too anxious to call up and they’ll fit me in for a quick scan. I’m relieved, but wonder what I would tell the receptionist for the reason I need to come in. I guess the honest one; I lost a baby before and I don’t think I can make it another day without making sure this one is still fine? Perhaps. As we embark on this journey, I am doing everything in my power to keep positive thoughts, reassuring thoughts, thoughts that will come true, running through my brain instead of the doubts and fears that keep trying to take over. I am so excited for this. I am grateful for the hope filled ball of cells I carry with me. I will repeat as many times as needed, millions upon billions; I am pregnant with a healthy baby who I will bring home and raise. I am pregnant with a healthy baby who I will bring home and raise. I am pregnant with a healthy baby who I will bring home and raise.