(written for The Wise Mother—Sept 20, 2002)

I love my belly.  When I was a girl I loved to fill it with liquid and listen to it jiggle and giggle.  Even as a teenager, I loved my “pooch” because I had a wise mother who taught me that “Women store a little fat in their belly to protect their wombs.  It shows that you’re getting ready to be a mother someday.  It will keep your babies warm and safe.”  So when my friends were complaining about sit-ups not working and taking diet pills, I just smiled at my little tummy, content that it wasn’t a flaw at all.  Safe in my blue jeans was a protected vessel, ready to fill up with possibilities when the time was right.

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Years later I married and became pregnant.  I was healthy and happy.  After 12 weeks of grey-green mornings, I began to glow.  And soon after, my beautiful belly began to grow.  My co-workers noticed it, my parents commented on it.  My husband reveled in it.  One day I caught my reflection as I walked past a floor-to-ceiling window.  I was wearing a peach sweater and looking particularly full, and I suddenly thought, I look like a fruit!  When I was thirteen they said I was “blossoming” and now I was ripening on the vine.  I felt like a garden, walking around.  It wasn’t all radiance and happy days—my growing belly itched as the skin stretched, and some days the walks to and from campus made my legs ache.  But then I would come home, and sit with my belly, talking to my baby, singing to her.  When I gave birth, I was surprised how much I longed to have her back inside me.

A few years later, as I tried to conceive my second child, I was shocked at how few pictures of my first pregnancy we had, and how . . . flat they seemed.  I wanted more of a record with my second pregnancy.  I made my dubious husband take pictures of my belly, stretch marks and all.  Then I heard about belly casting.  To make a plaster sculpture of my belly seemed like the perfect homage to my journey through pregnancy and birth.  I was surprised as I did some research.  It wasn’t as difficult as it sounded.  Birthing From Within, one of my favorite birth books, had easy-to-follow instructions.  I bought the supplies and coached my husband through the casting.