I called her Sasquatch

As my wombmate, she never stopped moving. Her feet lived in my lungs. I knew she was there, but that didn’t make it - her - feel real.

It just seemed too good to be true, you know? How could I be so lucky to finally be in this season? To grow a tiny human? To wonder if he – or she – would have my nose, or his eyes, or my attitude, or his patience? For whatever reason, I couldn’t allow myself to be all in. It seemed like there was a catch.

Now that she’s here she seems even more like a baby Sasquatch.

Mythical, even.

She’s the quiet, illusive miracle in the middle of a chaotic world.

I don’t care about any catch. Or the what ifs. Because anyway you slice ‘em, you remind me I was close to losing this.

But I haven’t lost anything — I’ve gained everything.

And I’m all in.