The kind of things you push to the back of your mind every day so that you can make it through the day

When we went in to get an initial ultrasound (which showed no "gross abnormalities" and indicated that I'm going to give birth to a tiny ghost with a big chin), Cook and I, on our way out to the bus stop, waited for a very slow elevator in the hallway between the perinatal clinic wing and the children's hospital wing of the medical complex. I looked over into the hospital hallway as a procession moved by at a funereal pace. There were four medical-type people pushing a gurney, and two blank-faced regular people walking behind. On the gurney, which was dressed in colorful cartoon-print linens, was a baby, maybe around a year old, its face turned toward me, asleep, wired up to a bunch of scary machines. I watched the procession go by and I thought I hope they're all going to be okay... and then I thought I am so lucky... and then I thought so far... and then I decided not to think about it.