I Am a Fruit

There is nothing stranger than experiencing a drastic change in the entire purpose of your body. I am no longer an exercising machine. I am no longer a head-turning knockout. I am no longer a career superwoman. I am no longer a world-traveler extraordinaire.

No, I am a pod. I am a vessel. I am an incubatin’ nutrition dispensing system. I am a frightened brain that waits in fear of the hellish, sleep-depriving atrocities of newborn parenthood. I am a rickety frame that will barely support the weight of a growing organism. I am a bag of invisible hormone ducts that squirt and respond, squirt and respond. And, wherever I am, there are two of me.

Supposedly, I can return to all those more glamorous roles in a year or so. (And, then, and only then, we can hold a spirited debate as to whether or not I indeed held any of those titles, but…whatever! For now, please humor me!)

[Image from: http://www.botos.com/weekly/imgp5048ra_800.jpg]