Yesterday I was pulled over by a cop. This has never happened to me before. I certainly wasn’t expecting it on my way home from work, stuck in traffic for an hour, feeling ill. Of all days I just really really wanted to get home. There was flashing lights behind me, but when I pulled over to allow him to pass, as they always do, he didn’t pass me. He pulled in behind me.

Turns out it was just an overdue inspection sticker. I got a warning. Still, not pleasant, not pleasant at all. Especially when the cop is asking, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” standing tall and ominous outside my driver-side window. Especially when you’re an immigrant, albeit legal. Especially when you’ve had a really crap year and you just want to cry. And cry I did. Not sobbing at the cop, but dabbing at the silent tears welling up as I stared at the blurred streetlights while the cop sat with my license and registration in his car behind me. I sighed with detatched futility.

Today of course I knew I had to get the new sticker – but I had to work. New job, not like I can blow it off for an hour. And by the time I get out of work the inspection places are closed. I had 45 minutes for lunch to drive to a nearby auto inspection point and hope they could do it quickly. They had a wait, she informed me. About an hour. No good. I drove back to work.

The drive home was very interesting. I nervously watched my rearview mirror. I checked sidestreets. There was nothing I could do one way or another, but I held my breath. I tensed up as I drove down the stretch where I was pulled over yesterday – foolish thinking, my brain said, since the probability of it happening in exactly the same place two days in a row was slim to none. But I waited and watched anyways.

As I passed the spot I let out a sigh of relief. I wasn’t home yet. I wasn’t completely off guard. But I felt a little safer.

I thought to myself, maybe that could happen in my next pregnancy. I know we’ll all be holding our breath as I enter my 36th week of pregnancy. I know I’ll be checking all the cross-streets. I know I’ll be gripping the wheel. But maybe, just maybe, once we get past that I’ll be able to relax a little.

I missed out, and I carry that weight every day – especially seeing my co-worker draw close to her due date. Would I have gotten swollen ankles at the end? Would my belly have finally broken some stretch marks? Would I ever have felt done and ready to move on? I’ll never know. My journey was cut short. I want another chance at that, too.

It will be a hard battle in my head and my heart. I will be terrified, but trying to hold on and stay strong. I can’t tell you what I’ll decide to do. But I will hold on as long as possible.

I picture myself laying down to bed with a burgeoning belly, inching closer to a due date. I imagine myself feeling the baby kick and feeling thankful in a way I could never have imagined for one more day with my gift. That’s all we ever really have, isn’t it. One more day.