And the belly grows…
*I wrote this when I was pregnant with my first daughter, Zoë. This morning, as I’m pregnant with my third, Zoë got out her “special box” of mementos that I have kept for her from her early years and in it she found this piece of writing. I thought I would share it here with you. And as I approach my third trimester, I think it would be fun to do a version two of what it’s like now as my belly grows again, eight years later.*
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It's nothing. And then it’s something. A blip of life. A star being. A brand new body. A soul already? Quietly growing. Microscopic. Almost undetectable. And at the same time very loud.
And the belly grows.
And your relationship changes. Sex changes. Your boobs change right away. It’s mind blowing how quickly they change. You ponder the miracle of life. Where do we come from? Where do we go to? You marvel that everyone is born. Everyone. When you slow down enough you are filled with awe and wonder. Never have you felt so close to awe and wonder. Never has ethereal wonderment been so accessible to you. You think about people who are enlightened and hang out there all the time. And this is not you, but you feel closer to those people somehow. On your good days. On your bad days you are nauseous. Maybe you can’t even open the fridge without gagging so you have other people do it for you. Your roommates, your partner, perhaps you even enroll strangers from the street to grab you the milk for your evening bowl of cereal. Cereal becomes your friend. You revisit boxes of cereal from your childhood that you thought you left behind for good. Others join you in eating cereal because it’s fun. And fuck it, it’s easy and quick to make. You start waking and sleeping at odd hours. You pull over on the side of the highway to take a cat nap. No big deal. Thirty minutes later you are up and charging - or rather - banana slugging - through your day.
And the belly grows.
And different things become repulsive to you. Poultry. Gamey tasting meat. The feeling of cotton balls. Certain people’s breath and B.O. And other things you just can’t get enough of. Mac n’ Cheese. Massages. People making you food. People doing all kinds of things for you. Incessant praise for the absolutely incredible miracle that your body is and that the body that you are building every single day is. YOU ARE BUILDING A BODY WITH YOUR BODY. Eyes. Nose. Ears. Heart. Lungs. Toes. Eye lashes. Finger nails. Tongue! The scratchy sound of velcro might make you want to cry. Lots of things might make you want to cry. You feel tender. Sensitive to things you’ve never been sensitive to before. You feel like you’re walking around with a secret inside of you. It’s fun, like you’re hiding the most precious jewels in all the world. And at the same time the experience is so loud and profound it seems absurd that not every passing human knows that you’re growing a human being inside of you. That there is a person in there!
And the belly grows.
At some point your sacrum feels tired. And your labia droop. And your feet swell. And your b.o. changes. But your energy is BACK! You start working out again. Which is really different now because you’ve gained some serious lb’s at this point. Modifications are the new norm - not just in yoga class - in every way. People tell you you glow. It’s true, you do! You want photos taken of you. Lots. You feel like someone should be capturing every moment. Why isn’t there a herd of paparazzi following you around cataloguing your epic and profound journey? This experience merits that. Why is everyone not in a constant state of awe at what is happening? You can’t listen to anyone when your baby is moving. The world stands still. Your attention is hijacked every. single. time. There is great relief in being out of the awkward phase of looking like you’re unwell and gaining lost of wait and your situation finally being quite clear. You initiate belly flaunting. Strangers smile at you when you walk down the street, ask you the most predictable five questions, smile again, and then carry on with their day and somehow each time it’s so sweet. Some people want to touch your belly. You might like this, or you might fucking hate it. It really can swing both ways.
And the belly grows.
Sleep becomes ridiculous. Moving around becomes absurd. You feel like the lovechild of a rhino and a whale. And a walrus. But that’s too many animals. You have taken to walrusing around the house in a nesting frenzy. You imagine a walrus in a frenzy and you give a sideways smirk at the oxymoronic quality of this. Of you. Of your current state. Of the fact that this is the way that we all arrive on this planet. It’s absurd. And miraculous. The wonder shines on. So much wonder. You begin brainstorming names if you haven’t already. Perhaps your partner is part of this and differences surface. Your childhood baby name lists don’t get you as far as you had hoped. Back to the drawing board. You start to daydream about what your baby looks like and feels like. Who are they? you ask yourself. You predict hair color and eye color and talk about it with friends even though you have no idea. You sort out your diaper service and spend too much time researching organic non-toxic toys and mattresses and carriers that don’t splay the hips open. You buy furniture. People give you baby things and you have no idea how they work or if you’ll need them or when and piles of things begin forming around your house. You triage them. More piles arrive. You triage those. You marvel at the tiny things that your tiny person will wear and you almost can’t believe it! Was I ever really that tiny?! you wonder. More wonder.
And the belly grows.
You think about the birth every day. You plan for it. Mentally and emotionally try to prepare for it knowing well that there is absolutely no way that you could ever prepare for this. It’s the most un-preparable thing ever. The walrusing has hit a new level of absurdity. You don’t get up to greet people any more. You have defaulted to flip flops for every occasion regardless of the weather because you can’t put your shoes on anymore. You can’t see your vagina anymore. You can’t sleep on your back or run or go 15 minutes reliably without peeing anymore. All of that is out. One day you try to count how many times you go pee in 24 hours because it’s so amazing how incredibly frequent it is but it’s too many that you lose track. You wrap up your work if you haven’t already.
And the belly grows.
You think you’re ready and then you think of five million more things you need to do before the baby comes. Can you every really be completely ready? You realize that in one sense your whole life has been a huge process of getting you ready for this moment. You find a softening in your heart. Everything is softening. You forgive people that you have fallen out with. You repair relationships in your life. You see your parents and family more. It feels right to have things clear and ready to go for this little babe to come into the world. You have really sweet moments with your person about this new tiny person coming to join you. You have really hard moments with your person about this new tiny person coming to join you. You know that your whole world is about to get rocked.
And the belly grows even more than you could ever think it could.
And you wait.
And you wait.
And you wait.
And people call and ask, “when is the baby coming?!”
And you say, “I don’t know! Soon I hope!”
And you wait.
And you wait.
And you go on a walk. A hike. A run? No, that’s crazy.
And you try to have sex and it’s hilarious and maybe a little sad.
And you wait.
And you wait.
And the baby comes!
