It’s like when you know you have to sneeze, but you can’t. I know that this is so temporary and sometimes I can almost keep that thought with me but then life happens and I don’t really think about it until something reminds me that THIS IS NOT MY LIFE.

I was heading back to my campo from the nearest pueblo when a girl perhaps a few years younger than me got into the van. She was holding her newborn baby. And they were healthy and the bus ride was fine but I just couldn’t forget about it. I think I just couldn’t imagine that that moment was part of her experience giving birth. No matter how many years I’m here, after I give birth, I’m not going to get home via an hour long bus ride on an unpaved road. I’m going to get wheeled out of there and Cleopatra’d to my bed where I’ll cradle that little wrinkled human in a room where I control the temperature and I’ll have like one hundred machines, including robot servants, helping me deal.

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