My arms flail like I’m swimming on land, a fish out of water. “To drag me in there like I’m a freak of nature, and want him to cut me, slice me open, rearrange and reattach organs —just because of this.” I grab my stomach. Shake it. “It’s not what a mom should do!” I collapse onto the couch. Hug the pillow to my chest, hiding my heart, not my stomach. “Moms shouldn’t do that.” Tears flow as I rock back and forth. “She’s supposed to love me.” My voice is a whisper. “Just love me.”
