Day Three and Still Feeling Great

It's a scorcher outside in New York. I think I'll stay in and enjoy my air conditioner. The baby is kicking a lot today. That's always a good sign, especially when you're 46. In fact every day I check my pregnancy thoroughly just to make sure. Make sure of what? That I'm still pregnant. I won't believe it until I am holding the baby in my arms at the hospital. My doctor told me I am considered high risk because of my age. That's a little disconcerting, I'd say. I have four stacks of pregnancy books. I skip through the sections on the risks as fast as I can because I really don't want to know what could go wrong. Is that wrong? I'm a little superstitious. I can't even wish for a certain sex. It would be like putting a spell on the baby. So I feel for the kicks, make sure my breasts are still tender, and look at my swelling belly to make sure that, indeed, I'm still pregnant. Then I go about my business like any other pregnant person in her twenties or thirties.  I line up with them on the subway platform waiting or the train. We're all in the same boat...we're pregnant. I'm just like them, they're just like me. Except deep down I know I'm a little different. I'm probably twice their age in many cases. But with sunglasses flip flops, and a sundress on, who can tell?!