We'll just see about that.
Last week I met the midwives at the practice 40 miles away. They are a lovely bunch, kind and warm, supportive and reassuring.
I don't think they know what hit them.
Every time one of them would say something like, "You're going to have a baby!" I would feel an irresistible urge (which I did not, therefore, resist) to say something hideously pessimistic in response, like, "We'll just see about that."
"And then in February..." one would start, and I would add, "...If we get that far..."
"By then your baby will be..." one said. "...Not dead, I hope," I finished.
(Okay, I only thought that last one.)
There's no reason to believe that my pregnancy is currently at risk. There's no reason at the moment to think it will be anything but routine. But by the time I left, the nice ladies were tight-lipped and rattled-looking. I think my lousy attitude convinced them that I'm so impossibly broken that I was about to miscarry on the floor right in front of them. I think one of them even called pre-emptively for a bucket and a mop.
On the one hand, I feel awful, alarming them when they were so kind to me. On the other hand, since my obvious mental disturbance convinced them to order an ultrasound earlier than usual, the end may justify the means. Score one for the power of negative thinking.