My belly yearns outward
Another barely-edited, just toss it off sort of writing excercise. I was attempting one liners but will settle for a one-paragrapher.
My fascination with pregnancy is as least as old as my laying eyes as a child on my mother's 50's era natural childbirth book. There were photos of rows of white women in big white underwear, identity obliterating black bars printed over their faces, arching and flexing on all fours. I'm 40. It's very unlikely that I will ever discover the probably far less erotic than imagined experience of bearing a child. Plus there's that pesky giving birth and ensuing baby to deal with. Still, I so want (in that abstract please no don't let it actually happen way) to be round, ungainly, huge, full, invaded by the strangeness of it. I want to pump that condition into others' bodies, besides.