(Arata)
Mom took me to an appointment with the gynaecologist. I was almost two months pregnant. January had ended and we had stepped foot into February.
There had been a shift in the weather, the freezing cold had been taken over by moderate cool. The flowers had begun to bloom.
I lay on the bed in the doctor's office as she probed my stomach.
"Your baby is developing right on track! The heartbeat is strong, and everything looks healthy at this stage. This is exactly what we want to see at 8 weeks," the doctor warmly told me, pointing towards the monitor so I could observe the tiny blotch.
My heart swelled seeing the life forming inside me. This baby was going to be so special. He had survived against so many odds.
We used precautions, and yet, somehow, he weaselled his way inside me. I got kidnapped, starved, and dehydrated and yet he survived, desperate to live.
Mom held my hand and squeezed, while we watched the screen, swimming in a sea of emotions.
