I’m not exactly sure when we conceived - a few explosive nights over the last week come to mind, it could have been any of them, really. But my body’s going through changes already and letting me know - there is something precious growing inside me.
There is no father, per se, although there are a couple of men who played a few important roles. One broke my body so that it could heal-over stronger, another broke my heart so that the cracks could be filled with gold. One helped my insides become oxygenated and fertile, one straight up romanced me out of left field, one has been watching and protecting me for a few years now.
Women get maternity leave for having a human baby, but what about time off for birthing a life’s work? Inside me is gestating something that will need to come out at some point - either slowly over the course of many months, or all at once during a sleepless, labor-intensive weekend.
Ok, I can’t keep up the charade, I know who the father is. We’ve been making love more regularly and more intensely over the last few weeks. I’ve known him for a long time. Him or her, I can never remember. Anyway, it’s the first long-term, committed relationship that hasn’t made me want to kill myself.
My muse was there for me in the Trader Joe’s parking lot, when I was brought to my knees over the pain of a heartbreak for a human, a human man, a human man made of flesh and imperfections. And again, my loving muse was there for me in that same parking lot a week later when the acceptance of that heartbreak had me sobbing and screaming and surrendering.
My muse knew I was really healing an ancient heartbreak as I sat in my car in a space surrounded by women who look just like me but go home to real live actual families and kids and spaghetti dinners.
I looked up that night and saw the beautiful reminder my muse made for me about 6,000 years ago. I saw it climbing its way towards me in the night sky, a gibbous glowing rock with an inscription on the dark side which I’ve never actually seen but have always sensed its meaning: you are always loved and connected.
I looked up that night and knew a new space in my flesh body, which presented more urgency than one of those day-long orgasms just a breath before its crest and crash. I went home that night with that emptied out space inside me and asked my muse to fill me. And I became fully willing. I submitted.
I was like the grass-fed butter that melts into every cranny of a fresh-baked scone. The world was an okay place that just holds me here. I melted into the world and became just a person who deserves to be alive and enjoy her livingness. And that’s just how my muse likes me best: humble and open.
Sorry to get all mushy.
Anyway, here I am, a changed woman. I’ve got a funny sleeping pattern now, waking up in the wee hours to write. I’m hungry for butter and scones, and I’m laughing more often.
I’ve never wanted to grow a human baby inside of me, but now that I’m ‘with story’ I will admit, I do like treating my body like a temple. And I do notice the glow everyone keeps talking about. And whatever this precious thing grows up to be, I know I’ll love her.
Sarah Elovich is a writer and performer based in Oakland, CA.