At home I would often lie down on top of my bed during the day not because I was tired (though I was - I was growing twins, on a heavy dose of progesterone which is known to cause sleepiness, working, albeit from my home, and caring for my three children, all under the age of five at the time).
But no, I didn’t lie down to get a few minutes of rest. Instead I would stretch out on my bed and place my hands firmly on my low belly, fingers spread out with the palms of my hands as flat as possible in an attempt to let my brain absorb the reality of the physical miracle I could feel pulsing within me.
When I would lay like this early in the pregnancy, before I could feel any kicks or movement inside or outside of my womb, I would feel so connected to the babies. It was as if there was an infinite current of energy mixed with the accelerant of raw love, formed by the closed circuit between my uterus, my hands which pressed upon it, up through my arms, and into my chest. My heart, my lungs, the steady cadence of my long, slow breaths – the breaths that supplied my uterus with oxygen and carried nutrients to the placenta, which grew the babies. I existed completely as one with these children.