Last week, I slept in one of the tank tops that I wore while I was in the hospital at the beginning of my bed rest adventure. I hadn’t worn it, let alone looked at it, since Sam was born. Putting it on and seeing myself in it brought so many memories and feelings back from that time in the hospital. That was the tank I was wearing when the doctor said I would have to stay in the hospital until Sam was born. It was the tank I was wearing watching “Sex and the City” at two in the morning, because I couldn’t sleep. It was the top that I rested beverages on, using my big belly as a little table. It, in two colors, was the shirt I saw myself in every day for 19 days, standing there staring at myself in the hospital mirror after a shower. My one activity for the day.
It’s been weird thinking about how scary that time was, not knowing if I was going to make it to 36 weeks, wondering if Sam would require a stay in the NICU, just not knowing what the future was going to bring. It seems almost surreal to look back on that time now. Now, when things are so wonderful and perfect. If not for that tank top, the familiar feel of it, I would maybe pause for a second and wonder if that wasn’t someone else. Just for a second.