Disclaimer: Not mine; no profit is being made.


I stand and watch as you sit, doing nothing in particular. You touch your belly, protecting the child you already love, and are just starting to know. I love watching you like this, when you are unworried and natural. You seem so stressed most of the time nowadays; I suppose we all do. You’re more like your old self when you relax.

I wonder what you are thinking about, and whether you are as scared as I am. Are you? Do you ever wonder how we’ll cope? How we’ll manage with a baby? We struggle to look after ourselves sometimes; how can we be responsible for somebody else?

When I look at you, I still see the child beneath the woman: the clumsy child with the mousy pigtails and the permanently scraped knees. The child I adored, who grew up to be the woman I love. Because I do, you know, even though I probably don’t tell you often enough.

You broke that plate at lunchtime. It reminded me just how young you really are. You looked too carefree and innocent to be sitting there bearing my child. But when I look at you now, somehow everything fits together like it’s supposed to, and I know we’ll be okay. You’re just starting to show now, and the new curves seem to fit just as well as the pink hair did. You’re still you, and I’m still me, and we’ll manage somehow, because it’s the way it’s meant to be.