The next morning the crew surprised us. They’d noticed how tight I’d been the last week and showed up with a pot of chili and a half-burnt loaf of bread. Rosa rolled her eyes and said, “We thought you could use a meal not written into the schedule.” There was nothing performative about it; everyone pulled a chair and ate and told stories about bungled measurements and the time Eli had once tried to use duct tape as a permanent solution. Laughter does something to tension: it boils it down and drains it away.
We practiced being flexible in other, deeper ways. Lily’s health check the following week flagged a minor complication—some rhythm irregularities they wanted to monitor. It wasn’t an emergency, but the midwife’s voice held a seriousness that made my chest constrict. Mark, who’d been s
