Before it is real, it is a list.

Do not drink coffee
Do not drink alcohol
Do not stress out
Do not eat sushi
Do not tell anyone until your first trimester is over

Do take your prenatal
Do exercise
Choose a doctor or midwife

Before it is real, it is remembering that I just bought a pair of new jeans, and soon I will not be able to wear them.

Before it is real, we talk about it on our road trip and both remark that it feels as if we’re talking about someone else. Surely not us. Not this body.

I think of it like religion – like practicing and embodying something in expectation, even if I cannot grasp it.

It is inchoate. “Nebulous,” he says. It is spring and we are growing.