I've posted before about our friend M, who is about to pop.
Like, literally. She's now almost two weeks past her due date. And once again, I'm left thinking about how different our paths are.
Her FB is filled with comments about how much her baby loves being inside of her, how she's created such a wonderful home that the baby just doesn't want to come out. And all I can think is Does that mean my babies hated me? I think this, despite the very impossibility of the words. They weren't actual babies, at least not with the capability to hate (not that it would have made much difference even if it were possible) but still, I am plagued by visions of my babies as kamikaze pilots.
And I want to send her good wishes, but all I can think of are the worst. possible. outcomes. The things that can go wrong when a little one hangs out past her due date. I'm so scared for her, but as Shannon (who has lost another one - head on over and give her some love) recently wrote, I've taken the statistical bullet for everyone I know in real life. Most likely, things will go perfectly well for M and her sweet gal. I sure fucking hope so.
BTW, I kind of like the vision of me taking the statistical bullets for everyone I know. It makes me feel a bit like a superhero, almost. So, go on, girls! Get knocked up! Have unprotected sex - nary a miscarriage or stillbirth will head your way. Wifey will protect you!
(It's times like this that I really wish I could draw. I'd like an avatar. If anyone who does draw would like to draw me a picture of a Deadbaby Mama superhero with tattoos, I'll be your friend forever!)