The axel jump

In figure skating there is a jump called axel jump, which is considered one of the hardests jumps to land. Why? Because the jump defies the laws of physics. You skate backwards, doing leg crossovers, while circling in one direction, just to turn swiftly and rotate in the air in the opposite direction.

Strangely, this is the only jump I can land beautifully, althought I never felt that I did it. My coach, a few years ago, scratched his head puzzled and said, "I don't understand how you can land an axel, when your spins are so off." "Was that an axel?" was all I could say, puzzled as well.

He brought in a camera to record my performing it and I remember saying, as we watched it, "I can't believe my body can do this!" "Neither can I," he joked. I almost couldn't believe that person who jumped so high and landed so perfectly after a tight, air lifted spin was me, if it wasn't for my big, bubbly ass.

It's close to midnight now and this is the last night I will be by myself, without a child. Tomorrow my doctor will induce labor because the baby is getting too big (mini Neanderthal, right?), and I can't stop crying.

I am so scared.

A friend asked me to recall all the times my body surprised me, and the axel jump, followed by the positive pregnancy test were too of the biggest surprises I've had. She keeps telling me to hold on to that, since the fear I have is because I can't believe my body can do this.

Sounds good and dandy, but today, as my mom and I food shopped for the next few days since she will be alone at my house while i will be at the hospital, about four random strangers asked when I was due. Every single one of them (including a friendly black male that greeted me with, "dang, girl! you are about to pop! Now don't go getting into labor in my store!") said I wouldn't make it until tomorrow.

That's how big I have become. Everyone and everything stares at me; even dogs.

The cashier at the food store asks, "why is the doctor inducing you?" I explain to her that the baby is estimated to be eight pounds already and that I am too small. She says. "Girl, that baby in your belly is no eight pound baby; that's a nine pounder! I've had five kids. I know a big baby when I see one!"

So now I am crying, picturing him getting stuck, picturing my going through pain, panic, picturing the baby getting hurt because I am too clumsy to hold him.

A normal person spends the pregnancy preparing for the child.

A person like me spends it worrying about cellulitis and laughing at the whole thing while being miserable and only truly realizes the weight of it all the day before the birth.

It almost makes me feel naive and childish.

I will keep thinking about that axel jump, in between meltdowns, and maybe in forty eight hours I can say that my body was able to do this,

For now I will cry in the dark of the living room.