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“Quoth the Raven, ‘Nevermore’.”


For those of you not familiar with (or too far removed from high school to remember) Edgar Allan Poe’s classic poem, The Raven, I highly recommend you read/re-read it. I often find myself lying in bed these days reflecting on the first stanza of the poem:

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, 
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, 
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, 
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 
” ‘Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door —  Only this, and nothing more.”

So I’m rarely (ok, never) pondering over a “quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore” in the middle of the night, but the “weak and weary” has been resonating with me as well as the gentle (and sometimes less gentle) rapping of my little one. Now, I’m not particularly comforted by the fact that the poem documents a man’s spiral into mental instability, but this surreal, faceless visitor is sort of how I’ve grown to feel about the baby. Maybe it’s not having an ultrasound since Week 18 and thus having no recent visual contact or maybe it’s that I’ve moved on to thinking about him outside of the womb and in his crib all swaddled, but there’s a part of me that has mentally divorced myself from the reality that the baby is currently inside of me. Lately I think it’s been in an effort to not resent him since my acid reflux has really flared up again in my third trimester and I pretty much feel terrible at all times as a result. I know it’s not his fault so maybe it’s easier to just think of him as this character like the raven in Poe’s poem. Either way, I’m sure a psychologist would have a lot to say about it!

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