. . . is surfactant. Used in a sentence: "Please oh please, Universe, science, god, goddess, God, biology, Buddha, Cher--let there be enough surfactant in this baby's little lungs to get him out tomorrow."
Going in for the amniocentesis at 8:30. I wish it was this second. I am anxious, nervous, READY. Not to mention my crazy dreams all weekend, ramping up for today. Last night's involved getting the news that it was negative. The giant needle does not scare me--it's the possibility of more waiting, pacing, stressing. I am ready for normal newborn worries; I've had enough of the will-he-come-out-alive worries to last a lifetime.
I know the more Zen side of me, the side that agrees with the therapist, could tap into the "it is what it is" mantra that's been on a continuous loop in my brain for the past 10 months. But right now I'm kinda like, "fuck that shit. Get this kid out, alive, por favor."
Oh, and did I mention today is the 10 month ago day when we learned Calla died?
Will keep you updated throughout the day. Keeping fingers crossed for good news this afternoon; feel free to do the same :) Mille grazie.