meetthewildes.com
Love Letters to a Snowflake - Meet the Wildes
Tuesday, CD5. On the table, I think about the meat under my skin; the yellow blubber into which I’ve pressed the needles, the throb of arteries and swoosh of blood and the jumble of organs inside of me. I am worlds away from the susurrus of consultation between my thighs. The rise and fall of my breaths are tsunamis and my being is displaced. So I build a boat for my mind and float away on the water. I am untouchable until they speak my name. This will all be worth it for the baby: approximately one-hundred-and-fifty cells of human potential whom the embryologist graded ‘perfect’ one October, just as the leaves were turning golden, before tucking it away for its long Winter. I have given up coffee and I decline champagne in the boardroom, laughing when when a colleague asks me pointedly if I am pregnant again. But I…