Not a lot.

It’s midnight here, and I’m waiting just for you to come. I’m willing you into existence with all that’s left in my heart.

The only thing I was afraid of has arrived. Even though you never made it to term, they’ll induce me tomorrow. Morning will come without you, and they’ll ask my permission.

And even with all the baby steps of least intervention I negotiated, even with all my stalling…

… this is what they call the dark night of the soul.

A thousand thoughts race through my head. I’m keeping the women in the beds beside me awake typing this. But typing in the darkness reminds me of home. It reminds me of the little girl I’ve left there. My sweetest gift, the best I ever got. I miss her smell. Two weeks ago I wanted her out of my bed, for the love of Christ.

What I wouldn’t give to hold her tight right now. This moment would exist in a different world if she were here. Hell, I even miss her scream. I feel her slipping from me. It’s palpable.

It was only ever us – us against the world. We’ve just started kicking butt – did you hear? But what will become of our win? To what victor fall the spoils?

I feel like I have to share them with you, little baby-to-be. You didn’t earn them. You haven’t had to battle every day like Livie and I  have. Our life is something beautiful. We made it together. And what will be your part in it? Where will you fit?

I know I will learn to love you, but right now I can’t even imagine who you are. How could I? You’re a hunched up little human on a red screen literally surrounded in your own poo. I thought I was meant to be the one crapping myself..?

So, should I be sleeping now? Squatting? I really don’t see the point in either. I’d be doing them to achieve such different states, and in my core I feel that the course of tonight and the day that will dawn is already written. You know when they say “I feel it in my bones”? Well, these bone-jangles be jiggling over here, bambina. Wriggling with utter inevitability.

The pain. Dear GOD the pain to come. It petrifies me. It paralyses my present.

This is perhaps the point. Afterwards, when it’s done and passed, we suck it up. We write it off, downplay it and remind ourselves it was so damn worth it. But that’s after the fact. What record remains of us in the actual moments we’re so happy to forget? How can we dismiss the terror as it approaches?

If we’ve been to hell, how do we put one foot in front of the other as we tread our way back to a place we once escaped from?

I focused so intently to avoid coming back here via the same route. Too intently? Was it all I had in my sights, even as I tried to dance around it? I feel as if I asked Karma out to dinner and let them pick the restaurant.

It’s one o’clock, Miss Wolf. I do type slowly.

Maybe I’ll meet you in the morning. Maybe there will be fireworks and cymbals. But I’m going to close my eyes now. I’m too tired to try and conduct that opus.