Yesterday I spent most of the day on bedrest. My sentence was lifted when James came home from work. I was excited to get downstairs, but after dinner and the progesterone shot, I got weary. After only a few hours of freedom, I dragged myself back to my bedroom cell.
But with the window open and lying in our new bed, I had a marvelous time. The springtime air was thick -- dare I say impregnated? -- with the sweetest-smelling of allergens, as bumble bees and pollen danced and tumbled around on the breeze. The tomato seedlings in James's garden emitted hope and fragrance, and the night echoed the absence of basketball games on the school courts behind our yard.
The temperature was too cool for Tennessee Williams, but I imagined swarms of gnats out there just the same. It was the perfect night to have the window open, the ceiling fan on, and to be buried in a quilt.
As I lay on my pillows, with cat sidekick captivated by the goings-on outside, I thought loudly and crisply to myself, "Right now I am pregnant. Right now I am pregnant. Right now I am pregnant."