He is always looking at me in awe, like I am onto something. Like I have a secret, as if I am the one making my stomach expand. I have nothing to do with it! My body has separated from me. Its no longer mine, no longer my ship to captain.
I am just as bewildered as he is. When I look in the mirror, I have the same expression on my face as him. Confusion. I don't feel any more magically connected than he does, despite the fact that this thing is inside me.
Trying to look beyond the lack of control, let go of the anger. Recallibrate to this body. Be reintroduced. Speak a new language through prenatal yoga dvds scrounged from the library and ripped. Running through snow, through the pain of strained abdominal ligaments.
When it becomes too much to comprehend I remind myself of the billions of other women who have done this. How can it seem so absolutely crazy?
The sick feeling lets up enough just long enough midday for me to brave the natural childbirth books. I think about the thousands of women who all gave birth that eventually let to the birth of me. Really, only the last couple were drugged.
No comments:
Post a Comment