The metaphysics of a prenatal diagnosis

There is a physics theory stating that there are multiple versions of yourself existing simultaneously in different layers in different times. It makes me ponder what the Current Me would tell the Pregnant Me of the Past about life with Caden if our layers overlapped. It was difficult to be excited about my pregnancy when there seemed to be constant doom and gloom from the medical professionals. Knowing what I know now, what advice would I offer to that sad scared version of myself? I wish the Pregnant Me of the Past could have taken a tiny peek into the Current Me's kitchen last weekend.

When the Tank is available on weekends to keep Caden occupied and out of harm's way, I like to get a good bit of cooking done. I enjoy cooking with music playing so I have a flip-down flatscreen tv installed under one of the wall cabinets. I turn on a digital music station and get to work (we don't subscribe to this service and it is the only tv in the house that mysteriously gets the music channels so I'm not complaining). Caden is enthralled by this magic tv that appears out of nowhere. Plus he loves music of any kind so it doesn't take long before he's in my way in the kitchen. I try not to be annoyed and remind The Tank that he will go hungry if he doesn't keep his son entertained. But it is a political season and within minutes, The Tank has become distracted by the googling possibilities of various candidates and plants himself in front of the computer. Caden runs back into the kitchen.

I turn to Caden impatiently and ask him to please go play in another room until mommy is finished. Instead he gives me a big cheeky smile, signs "please", and grabs both my hands in his. He is asking me to dance.

It is a beautiful fall day with sunlight streaming through the single kitchen window. I have a beautiful son that wants nothing more at this moment than to dance with his mother. Always he reminds me to live in the moment. Who could resist?

I turn up the volume and we dance away for half an hour. Sometimes we take solo's, sometimes I hold him in my arms, but mostly we dance holding hands. We both invent a few new moves and showcase our best for The Tank. We all laugh and smile till our cheeks hurt. Who cares about cooking? Life is beautiful.

The Tank had commented that I should hope no one spotted us through the window or they might think we'd lost our minds. I thought, "And why should I care if someone witnessed this fantastically happy moment?" That was when it occurred to me that there is one face I would love to see spying in on us: the Pregnant Me of the Past. I remember how much she wanted to believe that these days would exist. I would wave to her and know after witnessing that scene, she would only need four words of advice: Stop worrying. Start dancing.