42 Days
Forty four days ago, I felt the first clench from the fist of motherhood. Her grip was felt through my entire body. Forty three days ago, I danced a rhythmic tango with her anticipated discomfort. Forty two days ago, she showed me, by example, her vicious passion for new life that I would soon inherit. She forced my body to dive far into the depths of my instinctual existence, so that my conscious soul could depart and guide the new light into his physical being. Forty two days ago, I became a mother.
Exactly forty two days have passed since I forgot every detail of my childless life. Like a wave from the ocean crashing into the sandy shore, sweeping away the first layer of tiny particles, but bringing with it a dozen dazzling seashells. Each shell containing a hundred more new particles to be dispersed and combined with the rest of the shore.
I would never think to drain the ocean or cease the waves. I am far too entranced by my son every second of every day. I have no desire to go back, and I am consumed by excitement for the next forty two days.
Exactly forty two days have passed since I forgot every detail of my childless life. Like a wave from the ocean crashing into the sandy shore, sweeping away the first layer of tiny particles, but bringing with it a dozen dazzling seashells. Each shell containing a hundred more new particles to be dispersed and combined with the rest of the shore.
I would never think to drain the ocean or cease the waves. I am far too entranced by my son every second of every day. I have no desire to go back, and I am consumed by excitement for the next forty two days.
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