I want morning sickness.

I want morning sickness, and the difficulty of managing a day around it. I want to be uncomfortably pregnant and accosted by annoying strangers in the supermarket. I want a sore back, and sore feet and sore knees, and to feel like I need to sit down to ease my discomfort. I want to be at a stage where it’s perfectly acceptable to moan, and refuse to: the result of wanting something so very much.

I want sleepless nights and nervous ears. I want to comfort someone small and needy, who relies on me to get through everything. I want a rocking chair, and a bedside crib, and a sling.

I want chaos and excitement, first steps and surprises. I want to see the world again through the wonder of a babe.

I want to see my husband become a father, to give my parents more grandchildren.

I want to feel new life grow inside me; a lifeforce that will literally grow to kick me from the inside.

I want what you have.

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