Waiting to love my child
The technician pushed the plastic wand onto my belly, and there on the TV screen were white blobs and filaments in a black cone.
“There's the cervix,” she said, as though I'd driven two hours to get the inside scoop on my cervix. “And there's the placenta.” She ran a computer curser over a fuzzy white mass.
But I wanted a profile or a full-body shot, some image that would tell my brain, Yes, there's a person in there, which would tell my heart, Yes, you can risk loving this person.