I can not show you our dance 

This is my daughter 

She is nearly 8 months old 

That is almost the same time 

I carried her inside of me 

There are some bodily experiences 

That overwhelm language 

Finding out I was pregnant 

Was one of them 

I was alone and in shock 

took a second pregnancy test 

just to be sure 

It was negative 

Was I not pregnant 

or did I fail to pee on a stick? 

I surprise myself 

when I want it to be the latter 

Fear is pushing from under my skin 

There’s this weight on my chest sinking 

A couple of days and four tests later 

I told the father 

It was a Blue Monday 

I was nervous 

and needed him close to me 

So I could sense him 

So he could sense me 

The intense urge to be with two 

But instead there was a screen between us 

when I awaited his response 

He was abroad for another two months

Sometimes I would just forget 

I had a dream once that I was at a party 

Someone offered me a lighted cigarette 

I took it 

enjoying the haze of the party 

the haze of the people 

I was tired 

I smoked the cigarette 

and put it out in a bottle cap on the table in front of me Suddenly I remembered I was pregnant 

At this moment 

I could slowly see inside of me 

Inside my womb 

It was full of smoke 

I had killed it 

I had killed the embryo 

(Never have I woken up 

with more guilt than I did that morning) 

Did you know that here in Antwerp 

there are more than 160 tiny Madonna statues? Usually, you can find them 

on the corners of buildings 

You might have even passed one 

on your way here tonight 

Don’t worry if you didn’t 

The city organises guided tours 

It’s called the Madonna-walk 

We could all go together 

I read somewhere that they are held every 
Blue Monday 

The third Monday of January 

Notoriously the most depressing day of the year 

I am standing here 

in front of you

with imposter syndrome 

My feet aren’t touching the floor 

I feel attacked by my biology 

As if the materiality of my body 

has never been so apparent 

As if I was catapulted back into time 

(As if I am advertising heteronormativity) My head knows that 

being a mother is not a destiny 

Yet my body is no longer mine 

(The interior is still hiding the unseen) 

It’s unfamiliar 

We become estranged 

A few years ago 

My sister was having a hard time 

In this time, she was worrying a lot 

they call it piekeren in Flemish 

She said to me she wanted to have a baby

She wanted a baby so she would just stop worrying 

All her worries would be 

about someone else 

She said she wanted a baby 

to feel a sense of purpose 

The maternal moulding has begun 

The sensation of moulding warm wax 

Leaving fingerprints 

Moulding the shape it takes 

Perpetually modifying 

All my senses are heightened 

My cells intensify 

I am having a field day 

There’s a pleasant tingling sensation 

spreading all over my skin 

I can no longer hide the unseen 

My alien body 

this monster body

On good days I revel in this 

revel in the joy of multitasking 

in floating 

in defeating fixed bodily forms 

I show my belly to everyone I meet 

On bad days 

I disappear, my belly shows itself 

I become public property 

People mistake me for someone else 

For something else 

I am not I 

I am not 

(I am not one) 

I am dancing the particular dance 

Where one continuously oscillates 

Swing between being one and two 

Both one and the other 

Neither one nor two 

Being one and split 

Impregnated with peculiar otherness 

Go back and forth in the space of the self and other 

Swing between being one and two 

Both one and the other 

Neither one nor two 

Being one and split 

Impregnated with peculiar otherness 

Like having another body’s organ 

We vitally depend on each other 

Though without guidance 

Bubbles popping inside of me 

First kicks 

Slowly I sink into this new body 

I hiccup when letting go of control 

The friction calms down

I slow down 

I am slow as the world 

This intimacy takes over 

our body 

our space 

our sleep 

our touch 

our work 

our mountain 

My partner’s mother once told me 

she felt bored and lonely 

She said it sometimes took her a lifetime

to cross the living room 

from one side to the other 

She remembers sitting in the sofa 

at home with her newborn son 

looking out of the window 

watching the bin men collect the bins 

They take the bins, empty the bins 

and put the bins back in their place 

For a moment she felt jealous 

Jealous of that sense of purpose 

Taking the bins, emptying the bins 

and putting them back 

It’s a good day 

I am among mountainy women 

I sense ancient wisdom 

I am not living it 

It is happening to me 

on a cloud made of the perfect cocktail of hormones

Longing to finally meet the tiny mover 

I can’t sleep 

The mover doesn’t stop moving 

My organs are squashed 

I pee again and again

I might tear apart at any moment 

15 hours of intense pain hugging me later 

only 3cm 

Time passes quickly yet it means nothing

In my head a voice shouting 

I will never have a baby again 

Never will I put myself through this again

I’ve been awake for 33 hours 

and can’t keep anything down 

I see a deer in front of me, crumbling

The deer collapses 

This image continues to reappear

again and again the deer collapses

I sense the collapsing in my legs

I tell him I am collapsing 

I tell the midwife I am collapsing 

I tell the room I am collapsing 

Yet my body doesn’t respond 

I am going 

Another 7 hours and still not a lot of dilation

The baby’s head is turned the other way

They call these babies stargazers 

How beautiful I thought 

My baby is a stargazer 

Another contraction 

what a bullshit name 

Are you still walking with me? 

I need you there 

I need you close 

I need you to see this landscape 

I am almost gone 

She’s captured in her own skin 

on my chest 

I feel ruptured 

Hit by a truck 

Awake for an eternity 

I drink when she drinks 

I sleep when she sleeps 

I see her see me 

I feel like the baby 

I feel the movements my baby makes the movement

I thought we had outgrown

My baby magnifies these movements and sounds

Sleep deprivation is getting to me 

I feel empty 

Now I recognise the faces of new mothers

The faces filled with melancholy 

of the new mothers at the bus stop or in the park

They feel betrayed 

They know stargazers are not harmless

The imprint of maternal history is 

hard to shake off 

Hence the shakiness 

Like at birth 

We are imploding 

This is not a credible way to live 

I am spreading myself too thinly 

In the land of spreads 

I become an octopus 

with eight tentacles 

that can change the colours of my body in a matter of seconds 

To hide 

or to be seen 

I leak 

I leak black ink 

to cause confusion

Self-destruct 

The colour leaves my skin 

I turn white 

I am gone 

Swing between being one and two

Both one and the other 

Neither one nor two 

Being one and split 

I like how much you’re forced to just ponder

when someone is sleeping on you 

When being napped on 

and to feel this blissful weight on my chest 

I can not make a performance about this

Nothing I do will remotely resemble

this peculiar bodily experience 

It overwhelms language 

I can not show you our dance 

So 

I leave you here 

References

Sylvia Plath 

Luce Irigaray

Imogen Tyler 

Julia Kristeva 

Maggie Nelson 

Sarah Hoover