Years later, I found myself looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and was startled by the woman staring back. She looked happy with her decision to have this baby. She looked like the mother she always wanted to be. I was happy for her, but I couldn't shake the thought that the baby inside me was my future self.
As I began to accept my new body some months ago, sex became a part of life again. A means of physical contact, yes, but also a way to reaffirm that this was right, somehow normal. That in this timeline I could find acceptance in assuming the role of a normal married woman.
I couldn't believe what I had let my father do to me. That the man who had given me life had given me his seed. And I learned to enjoy it, too, time and time again.
I was constantly in a state of flux, between the naive teenage boy I used to be and the strong woman I had become. It felt like I was constantly in two places at once, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep up the act.
I placed my hands on my pregnant belly. I could feel my baby moving, and it felt like my heart was swelling with love. I knew that this was it; this was my true path. I was going to be a mom. My mom.
Comments
Post a Comment