Mommy Pregnant Caring
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Sofia wakes to sunlight filtering through her curtains, one hand instinctively resting on the curve of her belly. She moves slowly through her morning routine—steam from a warm shower eases the ache in her lower back, loose cotton clothes swapped for yesterday’s pajamas. A light breakfast of toast and sliced fruit sits on the counter, her prenatal vitamins washed down with ginger tea to settle the nausea. Keys jingle as she double-checks her hospital bag: insurance documents, a water bottle, a granola bar tucked into the side pocket. The Uber ride is quiet, her palm pressed against the window as the city blurs past. At the clinic, fluorescent lights hum overhead while nurses guide her through check-in, blood pressure readings, and the steady thump of the fetal Doppler. She texts a blurry ultrasound photo to her partner afterward, thumb hovering over the send button with a mix of exhaustion and quiet pride. Home by late afternoon, she sinks into the couch as the scent of simmering vegetable stew and garlic bread fills the apartment. The knife glides through zucchini and carrots with practiced rhythm, the meal plated with a sprig of parsley because she’s earned something pretty today. By sunset, she’s curled under a blanket, half-watching a cooking show, one hand absently tracing circles where a tiny foot just pressed against her ribs.
