The Sweatshirt

Yesterday, as I locked the door, I noticed with affection the soft, frayed cuff of my brown sweatshirt.  It's one of those sweatshirts that has only improved with time.  It started out as a hooded pullover, bought around the time J and I were courting.  It was worn during cozy winter talks and skateboarding around the neighborhood.  For cooking experiments and kisses.  At some point I got sick of the hood and just cut it off, turning it into a boatneck sort of thing.  It's been tied around my waist during midnight runs with J, and its well-worn cotton has soaked up countless tears.  My brown sweatshirt and I have been through so much.  It seems fitting that after all these years it would be keeping me and my twelve-week-old unborn baby cozy on an October evening.