My Body Told Me Last Night

My body speaks to me when I'm pregnant there is this humming inside, this business of muscles stretching, ligaments pulling, breasts swelling, a bee hive of activity making room and preparing for that tiny little embryo whose beating heart flaps like the wings of a hummingbird and whose pulse ever subtle becomes in synch with my own.

But last night I knew the humming had stopped.

It was almost instaneous. By evening my breasts had lost that biting tingle and the warm place holding that beautiful, fluttering light suddenly grew cold.

I was scheduled for an ultrasound today to make sense of the bleeding and of the conversation I had with my body in the dark of the night. She'd already broken the news to me gently so I didn't really need the ultra sound technician to tell me,

I am so sorry honey, your baby is not viable.

I didn't need her to show me the empty sac up on that screen. I didn't need her to point out that that tiny little speck inside should be moving and squirming and turning cartliage into bone by now.
I didn't need to hear it.
My body told me last night.