Tonight, she gave up on sleep. She shuffled to the bathroom, turned on the hot shower, and sat on the closed toilet lid, letting the steam unfurl around her like a slow dance. She closed her eyes and breathed—really breathed—for the first time in weeks. The steam loosened something in her chest, and she felt the baby turn, a slow roll beneath her ribs.
She stayed there until the mirror fogged completely and the stuffiness eased, just a little. Enough to remember that this was temporary. Enough to walk back to bed, lie down, and wait for the morning—and for the small, stubborn life that would one day breathe easy, right here in her arms. stuffiness during pregnancy
The baby kicked, hard, right against her diaphragm. She wheezed-laughed, then coughed, then laughed again. In the mirror, her reflection looked back—round face, flushed cheeks, hair a wild nest. She didn’t recognize herself. But beneath her palm, the tight, warm curve of her belly felt like home. Tonight, she gave up on sleep
She reached for the saline spray on the nightstand for the third time that night. Drip, wait, sniff. Nothing. The steam loosened something in her chest, and