I once read a story that terrified me. It wasn’t an overtly scary story per se, but spoke about a young person given a spool of thread that contained the entire span of his life. He could unroll the spool to “skip ahead”, but could never put the thread back on the spool if he did so. He, of course, being somewhat impatient, skips ahead at many intervals, and eventually reaches the end of his life far too quickly, realizing that he’s missed almost all of the important parts.
Because isn’t most of life in the details, the mundane, the seemingly unimportant?
It’s hard for me to wait. Wait for betas, wait for ultrasounds, wait to see if this pregnancy will work out. I want to pull out the thread and know. Yet knowing means missing all the small pieces that, in the end, actually come to define my life.