My belly’s been getting bigger and bigger. I noticed that I’ve been staring at the thin, soft dress covering my belly while I walk. I can’t see my feet when I look down because my big belly gets in the way. I just live my life pretending to be fine with the shock at how much my skin has to stretch, the fear and anxiety at my body’s deformation, like it’s natural for pregnant women. My belly, swelling out like a balloon, is meant to be a shelter for a life. The kind of existence that I have been taught to take for granted lives in me in unreserved luxury. Oh, I’m full with this big round sphere. It’s anchored right in the center of my field of vision and it’s expanding more and more on its own with its back to me. I can’t see or hear anything else anymore. It was as if the newspaper crammed with letters had been hijacked into a blank circle that encompasses everything into a whiteout. Wandering in the endless white mist, I understand. I am this child’s child. That baby was, me.
