hought becoming a mother would be the hardest challenge I’d ever face, but I never expected to feel so alone before my baby was even born. Looking back now, I wish I’d recognized much sooner that something was terribly wrong.
The clock on the nightstand glowed, showing 2:47 a.m., and I hadn’t slept for more than 20 minutes at a stretch. My back throbbed constantly, as if someone had wedged a brick under my spine, and the baby’s tiny heels drummed against my bruised ribs in a rhythm that felt almost cruel.
Thirty-four weeks pregnant, and my body wasn’t mine anymore.
I turned onto my left side, then my right, sat up, lay back down, and repeated the sequence, while adjusting the pregnancy pillow. I got up to pee, an hourly occurrence, for the fourth time that night, waddled to the bathroom, and shuffled back, trying not to make the floor creak.
