"Of course," he replies.
I wind my way through the aisles of pretty peasant tops, surfer chic hooded sweatshirts, Lucky Brand t-shirts, Levi's cowgirl flannels, and bins of jeans. I go to the Clearance section, and I look for bargains, never finding anything.
I glance up from the corduroys that drew my eye, always fitted too low and see the colorful section of nurse's uniforms. I feel a twinge. A little sucker punch.
In the birth class we took, we were advised to avoid horror stories. We did, except this one quiet detail. Fixing on negative details, can make things go wrong. The uterus need blood flow. Fear restricts blood flow, the teacher explained.
It all made sense. Just this one pest of a detail trailed me. That, and the midwife's warnings. I felt like I was struck by arrows.