There is a stroller in my living room and other unbelievable truths.

It's unbelievable, but it's true. It's there, attracting dust and feline interest and waiting for a baby as much as we are.

Also unbelievable but true: we started the birth preparation classes this week. During the entire session, I was on the verge of tears many times, surrounded by a sea of baby bumps that made me feel lost and deceptive until I made myself realize, again and again, that I have one too, albeit smaller (but growing – ahem), that this is happening to us too, that we belong in this class too.

Admittedly, some tears were residual from the day's recognition – and doctor order – that I really need to slow down. Another lakeside power march had ended up as yet another bench-to-bench crawl home – and I shouldn't have even tried to walk for exercise anyway, given the recent flare-up of a pregnancy-unrelated lower back problem that has left me hobbling around with a grimace and a limp. My body is changing, and with it so must my expectations of what it can do, which is always easier said than done.

And some tears were for my sweet husband, who until that point had shown little curiosity about the birthing process or, really, about anything baby-related that is concrete rather abstract. But he was so interested, so willing to learn, so happy to listen and to watch and then try the instructor's recommendations for couples-based birthing ball exercises, that I couldn't but be overwhelmed with love and gratitude for him, my partner in all that came before and, now, in this.