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My due date is in about 2 weeks, and I still don’t really feel comfortable talking to our daughter about her sister.  Like something is going to go terribly wrong, and I don’t want to get everyone’s hopes up.

At one of the yoga classes, before I stopped going because Tobias got a new job in the city and it just seemed too complicated to try to find a babysitter, we were all supposed to put our hands on our bellies and commune with our babies.  Because they chose us.  Which is a concept I pretty much hate anyway, since it’s what my semi-Theosophist mother says about her own parents, who were abusive and neglectful, as though it was somehow her fault that her parents were so terrible, since she picked them.  But in the yoga class, my reaction was both terror at not wanting to connect with this thing that still seems like it might die at any moment, and wanting to laugh that some kid would pick me to be their parent.