Blurred profiles

Sometimes, I think this is all a dream. I float past a mirror hoping to see the "old me" and am shocked at the swollen profile that confronts me. How often in life does our body mutate (or should I say, transform), in front of us? We take images of pregnancy for granted, however when it is happening it is a dynamic force. There is nothing I can do to stop the process unraveling. Whether I like it or not, this baby is growing inside me. I am pregnant.

It still feels weird to say. All my life I wanted to be pregnant. I would place my hands on a pregnant woman's belly and feel its hard girth and be so envious of the sheer life force taking place. It seemed so amazing to me. And then, children. All my life I have looked after the children of other people. I have changed countless diapers. Sang soft lullabies to get them to sleep. Rocked them to sleep. Played endlessly with blocks and make believe stories. It was a big part of my life. I even lived with a newborn, helping the mother by walking the baby up and down the hallway in the middle of the night.

Now, all these images (nostalgia), integral to one part of my self identity, have floated away (as I float past the mirror). Instead I am somehow bogged down with the weight of gravity (gravitas). The weight of reality. Did I ever live in reality? Did I ever quite conceive of the true ramifications of having a child? Despite all my "experience" with children, I never really and truly lived it.

Now I will.

So, this time is a confronting one on many levels. Not only do I experience the abject corporeal heaviness of my growing belly, but the ongoing recognition that my life is less muted now but colored with what is, not what if.

It's a strange new frontier. I don't feel as confident as I should be.

Maybe that's a good place to start.