Doubt

I doubt this baby will ever come.

I doubt I’ll be able to handle two kids.

I doubt I’ll ever get to start work, especially if I’m pregnant forever as I suspect will be the case.

I doubt I can survive another night, another minute, of these relentless contractions that don’t produce a baby I can hold in my arms.

I doubt my house will ever be clean for more than five minutes.

I doubt my garden will make it through the summer.

I doubt I’ll fit into my old clothes again, not with these babies I’ve made with this body.

I doubt I’ll ever feel anything other than heat and pain, so long it has inhabited my life.

I doubt it’ll rain or cool off.

I doubt the tantrums will ever stop or the potty training will ever take.

I doubt I’ll be able to sleep, what with all the contractions and pain.

I doubt I’ll ever feel normal, cheerful, myself again.

I doubt these contractions will ever stop, even if, by some miracle, I do actually have a baby.

Still, I doubt this baby will ever come.