As of today, I'm 13 weeks pregnant.
What's growing on the inside already has functioning limbs, teeth sitting ready in gums, and fully formed eyes; sealed tightly behind perfect lids. Mind blowing.
This next season of liminality, living in the shifting change of now-but-not-yet, has so far brought little of the romantic, brooding introspection I'd imagined. Maybe that's a gift of a first pregnancy when one isn't already a part-time parent. Maybe it's just in the movies.
I'm dreaming more. A smattering of terrifyingly real nightmares amongst the gloriously bizarre; eating a restaurant owned by Jack White, before walking home and realising I'd accidentally left without paying... and I'm only wearing one shoe.
My belly remains the same shape it always has. People have started to wonder aloud if I'm showing, but I think that's only the same me that 10 years ago prompted a sweet man to give up his seat on a boiling hot Tube for entirely mistaken reasons. I took the seat then as I take the pats now; with a smile on the outside and a mixture of embarrassment, seething resentment, and genuine amusement within.
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1 comment:
Ah my second pregnancy wasn't that romantic either... not whilst lugging an 18-month-old around who couldn't get in his car seat, cot or bath by himself! There will be lots of romance on the birth date though, I promise you. x
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