Passion, Pregnancy and the Promise of the Rapture

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Passion, Pregnancy and the Promise of the Rapture

I am beginning to see the light. Five days ago I put my treadmill in storage to make room for the crib that my friend, Walter, is buying. I am almost settled on a name for the little one. Baby gifts have begun to arrive. I had to clean out my ex's dresser to make room for the tiny t-shirts and blankets and booties. It still seems impossible that there could be another human being living in my apartment in January. I'm still cautious, but I am definitely looking forward to the changes to come. I've heard the stories of sleeplessness, and breastfeeding drama, and all night screaming episodes. But something inside me cannot help but think a miracle is on its way. Maybe I'm setting myself up for more disappointment, but cynical as I am, I would like to think a little faith is not a bad thing. Time will tell, I suppose.

And I must say I am looking forward to having my body back. Though I hear breastfeeding exclusively means you don't really own your body just yet. But I won't be throwing up, and I will be able to bend again and stretch and move without the obstacle of the abdominal basketball I have been navigating for months now. And I am particularly excited about the possibility of my body being aroused again. I dream of being laid out on some handmade quilt on a bed in Kingston, lean and limber again, at the mercy of a woman who has known my body for years. I can imagine evenings in Brooklyn, with new hands, and agile mouths traversing the changed terrain of my softened post-pregnancy contours. I can almost feel the skin under my own fingers as I trace the magic of my next lover's hips, her navel beneath my cheek, the small of her back on my forehead, my—I may even break some old records, do some things I was too scared to do before I got pregnant—such is the glee that accompanies my anticipation. Some nights I can hear the sounds of my own pleasure, far, far away, in that parallel universe not yet lived, and though I am not yet standing full in that experience, I am hopeful, and humbled by the possibilities fomenting inside the unpredictability of life.

I am making note of the changes, collecting them as evidence of my humanity, my vulnerability, my ability to adapt, to stay alive through difficulty. I am also hoarding new fantasies, tallying them for future reference. I intend to make up for the trimester of sex I missed. I am planning to cheat fate. I am hoping to bring to fruition a post-pregnancy surge in libido. I have never heard of it, but hope is the mainstay of most miracles, so I am stacking my hopes, and begging the gods for a flash of lightning, a burst of pheromones, and the willing company of a lesbian or two to speed the rapture of this poised but pulsing body toward some sweet release.