.next time.

I am a shadow. 

A silent, trembling figure in the corner.  

Full round bellies.  Pregnant with anticipation and with the promise of life.  

I am neither pregnant with anticipation nor with the promise of life.  

-Karen, you can head on back to the ultrasound room now-

Excited smiles. 

-Oh, I can't believe this is going to be the last one before he's born-

.

.

.

.

I don't belong here.  

.

.

.

.

The impulse to leave itches the soles of my feet.

I want to bury myself in a pile of leaves; gold and red and orange and brown.

The smell of wet earth in my nose and the crunch of fall in my ears.  

Instead,

Tears in the bathroom.

Paper gowns and an exam table.

A discussion about 

next time...

and not high risk but treated as such  

and no reason to think it will happen again

but close monitoring

with Perinatologist  

with Cardiologist 

and echocardiograms

Then I'm away, dragging the weight of my morning behind me.  

Next time.  Next time.  Next time. 

I don't even want to think about a next time. 

I want a do-over.  

I want a time machine.