Three years later, I stand in the garden, sunlight filtering through the leaves as my daughter tugs playfully at the hem of my dress. Her small hands reach up, pressing gently against the curve of my growing belly. I smile down at her, brushing her hair back and watching the wonder in her eyes.
"Mommy, is the baby in there?" she asks, her voice filled with curiosity as she pats my stomach, trying to comprehend the idea that her little brother or sister is inside me.
"Yes, sweetheart," I reply, kneeling to her level, resting a hand over hers on my belly. "Your sibling is growing right here, just like you did."
She tilts her head, her face scrunching as she tries to piece it all together. "But how does the baby get out?"
I laugh softly, gently stroking her cheek. "When the baby is ready, a doctor will help bring them out. Just like they helped you when you were born."
She seems satisfied with that answer and wraps her arms around me, resting her head on my bump. I stand there, holding her close, feeling a sense of peace wash over me. It’s been a long, unexpected journey to get here, but as I feel her little hands on my belly, and the fluttering kicks of the new life inside me, I know I wouldn’t change a thing.
Three years ago, I was a different person—literally. That pill, the one I took on a whim, was supposed to transform me into a woman for just a month. A joke, an experiment. But after that one night, when I found out I was pregnant, the change became permanent. I was stuck in this body. At first, I was terrified, filled with confusion and doubt. What did it mean to stay a woman? To carry a child?
When I was pregnant with my daughter, I had so many questions, so much uncertainty. I wasn’t ready to be a mother, and I definitely wasn’t ready to accept my new reality. But the further along I got in my pregnancy, the more my body changed, the more connected I felt to it. My body swelled with life, and suddenly, I didn’t feel lost in this transformation anymore. The stretch marks, the soft curves, the fullness of my breasts—all of it felt like a natural progression, like I was becoming someone new, someone I was meant to be.
By the time my daughter was born, something had shifted. The fear had melted away, and what replaced it was a deep, almost instinctual comfort in my body, in my identity as a woman. I wasn’t just playing a part anymore. I had become someone entirely different, and for the first time, I was okay with that.
And now, here I am again—pregnant with our second child, my belly once again growing, and I feel even more at peace with this body. This time, I’m not afraid. I’ve embraced who I am, who I’ve become. The changes in my body no longer scare me; they empower me. Every fluttering kick, every extra pound I gain, every shift in my hips and breasts—it all feels right. Like this is exactly how I’m supposed to be.
I glance up as he walks toward us, my fiancé, the man who’s been with me through all of this. There’s a softness in his gaze, a quiet love that’s grown stronger with every challenge we’ve faced. He kneels beside us, placing his hand on my belly, right next to our daughter’s tiny hands.
“Are we talking about the baby again?” he teases, his voice warm with affection.
“She’s curious, as always,” I laugh, resting my head on his shoulder for a moment. “Just like you.”
He chuckles, gently brushing his fingers over our daughter’s hair. “That’s our girl.”
I look down at the engagement ring on my finger, still amazed by how much has changed. When we found out I was pregnant with our second child, he asked me to marry him. It wasn’t something I ever expected or even dreamed of before. But as we prepare for our growing family, planning our wedding feels like the natural next step.
“I was just thinking,” I say softly, “about how much has changed since the first time. How different everything feels now.”
He glances at me, his eyes filled with understanding. “Yeah. You seem... comfortable. More than before.”
I nod, thinking about how true that is. “I was so scared with her,” I admit, glancing down at our daughter, now playing with the flowers around us. “I didn’t know who I was or what to expect. But now, with this baby... I feel like I’ve grown into it. Like this is who I’m supposed to be.”
He squeezes my hand. “I’ve seen it. You’ve changed, but in the best way.”
I smile, feeling the baby kick again, a small reminder of the life we’re creating together. “I don’t regret any of it,” I say quietly. “Taking that pill, everything that’s happened since... It all feels like it was meant to be.”
He kisses my forehead, his hand resting protectively over my growing belly. “We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.”
I glance out over the garden, watching as our daughter runs around, giggling. This life—this family—is something I never could have imagined. But it’s mine. Every part of it. My body, my identity as a woman, my role as a mother. All of it has transformed me, made me more comfortable, more complete.
As I prepare to bring another child into the world, I feel nothing but gratitude. This body, this life—it’s a blessing, a miracle. And I’m ready for everything that comes next.
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