A few weeks ago I made brownies for a party my parents were hosting. As I turned to take them out of the kitchen and into the dining room, I hit a wall I’ve passed thousands of times, skimming my bulging stomach along the textured surface, jamming the brownie pan into my breast and removing a substantial chunk of wall paint. After checking to make sure I was okay, my mom laughed, “You move like a woman who’s not quite used to her new shape!”
It’s true. I’ve had such a blissful, uneventful pregnancy that up until last week when I hit the 6-month marker I hadn’t truly been aware of my changing shape. Sure, I saw it in the mirror, but as soon as I started moving I didn’t feel different. Up until recently, my experience with pregnancy had been primarily internal— it occupied my thoughts and sensations, but and I hadn’t paid as much attention to the external shifts taking place.
The “brownie pan incident” served as a reminder that just as my internal, mental space has shifted, so has the physical space I occupy. The bundle of energy that wakes me every morning with thumping sensations (similar to the noises her dad makes as he lumbers down the stairs and fires up the espresso machine) is who I have to thank for this new sense of corporeal and intellectual self.
The gestation taking place in my core finds its parallel in my mind. Creativity has taken on a new meaning as I permit thoughts to come to me, to germinate. Instead of pushing them aside or promising myself I’ll work on them when I’m not as busy, I nurture them as I do the 12-inch, 2 lb. life force within me. I allow them to take shape, to grow into the creations they are meant to be.
As I think about my future, our future as a family, I am filled with optimism. Instead of inhabiting the space of the “day to day,” I inhabit the space of possibility. As the shape of my being continues to shift, I find myself existing fully at the confluence of body and mind.