Today I met my womb.

“Hello, womb.”

I marveled. So that’s how you look like, womb-of-mine. Not belonging to some random unknown on a picture of a fuzzy ultrasound monitor. This one’s mine.

It looked like a little balloon on a helium gas tank nozzle right before you crank it up and fill it with air. Drooping helplessly to one side, empty, waiting to be filled. It looked a little sad, even, though I was quick to reassure myself that I am really only just beginning my own life to want this funny void filled.

It was a strange feeling, looking at this space within me that will one day be filled with another living being (in entirety, ahem, not merely a physical protrusion), I hope.

I was thinking, isn’t it beautiful? The womb, a place where we all come from, our first home. Where we experience our first heartbeat, where we are so blissfully oblivious to the cruelty and ugliness life can bring. Cozied up in our own little cocoon, our own world, our universe is this one perfect space.

All we do is breathe. Beat. Kick. Squirm. Feed.

It thrills and scares me to think and know that someday some being might live inside me.

***

Am feeling pensive.

I feel so caught up in mundane routines, and it aggravates me. I want the weekends to come, another marker that I am this much closer to seeing him again; yet, I scream and bemoan the sheer lack of time that I have to complete all my other chores till then.

Just breathe.

One heartbeat at a time.

It’s not so bad when I think of it this way.