I pick up my phone to call my mother. I stop. It’s Yom Tov tomorrow. Must I ruin it for everyone?
A long wait at the doctor’s office is not what I wanted today, on Erev Succos. There’s too much joy in the cool autumn breeze. The avenues look like a massive circus, replete with tents of tinsels and gaudy decorations. I sigh, tired and happy, and wait.
The heady fragrance of pending holiday is compounded by the magic of a kicking little being inside me. It’s been a long pregnancy, as pregnancies tend to be, and I’ve been dreaming lately of baby fragrance, buttery skin, and delicious, tiny things.
The doctor, Dr. Keilson, is chirpy. “You’ll be outta here in a jiffy,” she promises. My mind is on dessert, (chocolate pie the first night — or apple cobbler?), when her voice snaps me out of my sugary ruminations. “So… we’re measuring a bit small.”
I startle. I’m in my ninth month already and so far, it’s been smooth sailing. “Oh.” I say, “Why?”
Create a free account to keep reading.
