I found these photos last week when searching for a picture of an unmade bed and was struck by how different life looked, how different Hal and I looked as a couple, dressing up for one another, touching in elevators... snaps of intimacy that seem almost foreign now.
Pregnancy is weird because it takes on a sort of temporary identity. One becomes the "pregnant wife" in her marriage, the pregnant mother, "the pregnant chick" at the restaurant and bachelorette party, Trader Joes...
"Do you need help with your groceries, ma'am?"
"No thank you," you say. Except you know you should say yes because your doctor told you to say yes and your husband and every stranger who passes as you groan while loading groceries into your trunk.
I keep reminding myself that when this pregnancy is over, I will no longer be pregnant. A seemingly obvious concept and yet one hard to grasp from where I stand, looking down, unable to see feet that for months have been too swollen to wear anything that isn't related to a flip-flop. When I'm pregnant I become disgusted by bodies and touch, prudish and claustrophobic, not myself. I need space and alone and don't even think about touching me while I'm trying to sleep. I remind myself that (soon?) that will change. That I'll be BACK! Touch me! Oh, baby! That I'll once again be able to fit fingers through rings, feet into shoes, bodies into bodies.... things one takes for granted when she isn't harvesting human beings in her person.
I'm incredibly grateful for the saneness of this pregnancy, for two healthy growing babies who every day become more miraculous, real, adored, but I'm also looking forward to being out of this body for selfish reasons. It's getting extremely crowded in here. I miss dancing. And fucking. And walking more than a block without getting winded, crossing my legs under the table. I miss stacked-heels and being able to see them when I look down.