the worry

of all the ways I pictured you coming into the world,
this possibility never occurred to me.

that's the thing— to quote a great film:
"the real troubles in your life...will be things that never crossed your worried mind"

the day things got real for all of us,
was also the day I found out I needed to be extra careful this last month.
my blood pressure rising,
same as it did when I carried June,
and the sky was falling.

because I didn't want this to happen this time,
because I had been so good.
exercised and meditated and took the right temperature baths.
I should have worked harder, ate better,
less taco bell, more salmon.
the voice inside my head telling me; "you failed."
failed to control this illness.
the irony.
so I cried in my car for myself.

but then that same night, I wasn't  the only chicken little.
the sky was falling for all of us.
Our worlds getting smaller and smaller,
500, 100, then 50, then no more than 10.
2 weeks, then a month, then maybe not until the dead heat of summer.
my sister calling, the words "shelter in place"
the whole world was on bedrest too.

the worry.
keep refreshing my feed,
is this a reliable source? which song is long enough?
did i disinfect this remote already?
we shouldn't have gone to the aquarium, remember when she licked the glass?
the italians are singing and i can't stop crying.

i'm at a 12.
you move in my belly and I remember to breathe
when I breathe--you breathe.
I put down my phone.
I lock it in a drawer.
I look at your big sister and imagine you next to her.
we sing edelweiss.
it works for a couple hours.
I allow myself the grace to know:
that is enough right now.

it's st. patricks day tomorrow.
the irish know a thing or two about hard times,
about the worry.
will i be able to feed them? the biggest of all.
that's in my blood. it's most of my blood-
i spit in a tube and they told me so.

so when the worry hits,
and it's really more like fear now,
when I think I cannot walk into that hospital for a check up
because "what if..."

or the nightmare comes.
it looks like this:
giving birth in 2ish weeks in a civil war type hospital tent,
you know the one, Phoebe worked at it in her past life.

i'll try to remember the blood in me,
and the history,
and the women gone before who lived and birthed and survived in the worry.

and i'll remember the italians singing.
and the nurses in wuhan taking off their masks--
big smiles,
the worst over.

and i'll remember you,
inside me,
with no idea how bad this timing is.

and you'll kick me hard in the ribs and it will hurt like hell,
and I will thank God for it and for you and I'll forget about the worry for a little while.