metaphors, or, what it feels like to be pregnant

12:38:00 PM

I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils.
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.

This Sylvia Plath poem has long been a favorite of mine but it isn't until now, as I watch my pregnant belly get bigger each day, that I understand all her words. Of all the metaphors, I love the comparison of a pregnant body to “a ponderous house.” A lot of women talk about how amazed they are at how their bodies just know what to do – know how to form a little body, know instinctively how to nurture and create, know how to adapt and change and make room for a new human being – and I am right there with them. It is all nothing short of amazing. But among all that beauty and all that amazement, the thing that resonates with me the most is that my body has become a home to a sweet little spirit. And that, were I to suddenly stop existing, that home would disappear. It seems so elementary – but I'm continually amazed at how my body is the only thing that can carry this baby safely to this earth. A lot of technological advancements have been made in the realm of prenatal care, but none of those advancements can replace the crucial role of a woman's body in the carriage of a new baby to this earth. And I think that is pretty lovely.

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  1. I think it is pretty lovely too.
    PS. that link, about the bed... i laugh everytime i look at it. thanks.