I walked the dog twice. At times, she limped. An arctic chill has settled. In the film about Antarctica, a husband and wife are wintering at the large American base. They have the usual conversation about the weather, whether it is cold or not. Of course it is cold, it is Antarctica, the wife says. Typical temperatures range between negative twenty and negative eighty. Yet the conversation persists. What the body can get used to, the husband concludes.
I walked five miles, all told. I am thirty-seven weeks pregnant, which is considered “late pre-term.” A baby born after this point is normal. I wake up and think, maybe today I will give birth. I go on the long walks, and I think, maybe this’ll do it.
I am feeling the feeling of precipice, of uncertainty. I am not a mother, but I am an “imminent mother-to-be” as a co-worker called…
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