Last night, as I cleared the dinner table, I watched my daughter playing mother in the living room. She held her own sippy cup, still half-full of milk, up to her baby doll's rosy plastic lips. When she proceeded to lose her grip and drop the bottle squarely on her baby's head, I heard her say "owie" and then give lots of kisses to the site of the imaginary wound. She rocked her baby, sang her Twinkle Twinkle, and tucked her in tight on the dog's bed with a pillow and blanket

I feel you flutter, but it isn't enough. I go to the doctor's office; count all 10 fingers, 10 toes, wiggling before my eyes in 2-dimensional black and white. But it still isn't enough. I wake up twice every night to pee, feel the gurgle in my throat at an unwelcome smell, have all the wildest dreams. And it isn't enough. Maybe at 24 weeks—"viability," they call it. The week your cousin was born, and she's 6 now. Maybe then I'll feel confident. Or maybe not. At every appointm

Watching my body grow is a gift unlike any other. How many sleepless nights did I spend pleading for this; for a robust mid-section and a rounded belly to hold. I ached for stretch marks and morning sickness and midnight trips to the bathroom to pee, yet again. Each wearisome symptom a welcome reminder—it's working. It's really working. This is finally real. This body I once scorned has become my most prized possession. The belly I too often sucked in and sighed out disappoin