Cradling My Connections

Crammed in the back seat of my mother-in-law’s Dodge Omni on a February morning, I held hope as she rushed me to the hospital.

I was pregnant with twins.

“I think I’m bleeding back here,” I urged, in between my hee, hee, hee, hooo’s of Lamaze breathing.

“It’s just sweat,” my mother-in-law countered, gripping the steering wheel white-knuckled.

With the soles of my winter boots braced against the back door, I twisted my arm toward the middle of my back and tried to reach the wet spot with my hand. The cramped space restricted me, so I gave up and re-focused on my breathing. My voice fell silent. I knew the truth anyway.

The news of twins arrived only three weeks before, when a sudden growth spurt in my uterus caused my doctor to suspect a very large baby, or multiples. An ultrasound confirmed two things: twins and polyhydramnios—an excess of amniotic fluid. I knew this pregnancy would be a challenge, but never imagined this.

At the hospital, the contractions grew in frequency and intensity.

With each pang, I pushed my babies towards the world—knowing this entry was too early for them. I was barely six months pregnant.

Then, my contractions stopped as if somehow my body put on the brakes—decided this was enough to bear.

Please join me over at Mothers Always Write for the rest of the story…


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