It is at fifteen weeks that I notice a new roundness when I bend to brush my teeth. It is not quite restricting, but it is a gentle reminder that I am not my own.
It has always been true, but it was easier before to live in the world where I could pretend that I was all mine. I slowly enter a season of giving. My mind might bestow myself reluctantly or freely but it does not matter to my body as it gives itself to accommodate another. It does so naturally, and I stumble upon the willingness when I lean over to brush my teeth.
It is at fifteen weeks I begin to count the things I take for granted and try to appreciate them fully. A long, uninterrupted morning and the time to look closely at the skin on his shoulders, the light on his collarbone. A spontaneous date night. A walk alone. A quick, quiet morning routine before work, alone. I am trying not to mourn them (though perhaps I will – they say I will), but to take good note of them before there are new things to be curious about and take good note of.