He's (probably) not the Messiah...

So here we come to the pivot, the point of before and after, the moment the world changed. Like Jesus before him, the arrival of my son marked a sea change of such significance that the ripples will be felt 2000 years later. Well, maybe that last bit is an overstatement. Maybe not. Its too soon to say. But a lot changed for me. And, unexpectedly, a lot did not change.

Now I know that its cheesy to say it. Having kids changed me life. But if we are looking for catalyst for all that came after, that bawling vernix rimed alien I just expunged from my body on the kitchen floor is it. My son. To pretend otherwise would be disingenuous.

I knew things were going to change. I knew I would be busier, caring from him. I knew I would be poorer, paying for him. And I knew that my heart would be more full, loving him. But there are things I did not predict. Things beyond the extreme amount of time which would now be dedicated to laundry.

Lets start with my body. As you might expect, my body went through some changes. In that it was no longer my body. I know, I know, there are entire, and important, arguments based on women's agency when it comes to their own bodies. But I've just got to be honest here. I HAD no agency. My body got big, and stuff shifted and I had no control of that. Fourteen years on, I continue to be plagued by sciatic pain, and these stretch marks are going nowhere. And the birth? No control. Zero agency. My body did its thing, and all I could do was ride it. And that was...kind of new. For three decades, I had, for the most part, had pretty good control of my body. No, I cant master the menstrual cycle, or veto spots. But this was something cataclysmic, and it changed how I live in my body. I'd like to say that it left me feeling stronger, but my spinal column has never been the same. I want to say that it felt like harnessing nature in all its power, but there was no harness. A small strap to cling to at best. But for all the might that rippled through my body, I was still in there, too. Along with eons of women before me. Not just women, but other mammals too. Connected through our shared physical processes. What changed was acceptance, and connection. I am what I am, and you are what you are, and though unique, we are remarkably similar. I felt like a mammal, born of my ancestors and millions of years of evolution, in a state of pure being.

The mammalian theme continues, somewhat inevitably, with breast feeding. I wanted to breast feed so badly. Terribly badly. I went through hell, high water, and emergency surgery to get there, and in retrospect, I wonder if the price was too high, but I was not, perhaps, at my most reasonable. I went on to breast feed for 11 months, and more again with my daughter, and I am now the woman who stares at nursing mothers in public places. Not with malice or distaste you understand, but because I am arrested, momentarily, by oxytocin spiced nostalgia. Despite the nostalgia though, breast feeding was the most debasing experience of my life to date. I have never felt more objectified by a man, or woman, as I did by my infant son. Never so used. Never so hounded. Never so needed. Never so important. Never so capable of bringing comfort. Never so able to satiate a need. Never so mammalian.

They say that foetal cells can remain in the mother's body for decades, and indeed it does feel like I have yet to get my body back. Ownership continues to be shared. I am both diminished and expanded. Altered. Capable of moving around on my own, but tied, always, to their physical location. And there are other things, too. Before this moment of delivering a new person from parts of my body and soul, I found reassurance in knowing that if things got too bad, too unbearable, well then I could choose to die, right? Not any more. I make no hard and fast promises, there have been times where my mind tells a different story, and that is the tragedy of our story telling minds, don't you think, that we are inclined to believe ourselves in the moment, even if we told a different tale a day previously? But mostly, now, that option is off the table. Not mine to choose. I spend far less time in existential crisis too, having kicked that ball down the line. I exist to nurture them. They, being deified by me, have every right to exist and don't need to justify it. This little cycle solves a lot of ruminative questioning, and also, conveniently, may form the kernel of many popular world religions. Again, who knows what's in store for the child who changed the world.

My world. Of course, I recognise that this revolution, whilst being intrinsically concerned with connection to others, is also somewhat egocentric. Many people do not want their world changed in this way, many people desperately do, and instead have it changed in ways they would not choose. And this brings me to another before. Before, when people told me about their feelings about their offspring, I listened, and I empathised and I assumed that I understood. Well that was a slap in the face for someone for whom listening and understanding is so central to my professional life. After, when I had actual feelings about my actual offspring and my reliance on imagination was reduced, I was painfully able to recognise how superficial that understanding had been. And this pivot has mattered immeasurably. After, now, I am far better at recognising my ignorance of another's experience. Which, it turns out, is a pretty valuable skill in actually hearing people.

Of course, this works both ways, and I suspect some people had not really heard me, when they told me that love conquers all. "It just wont matter, it wont even occur to you, you will just do what you have to do for your baby", they said. They were referring to those teeny little issues with over-zealous anxiety responses I occasionally encounter. I believed them, hopefully. But sadly this is one thing that has remained the same. Before, after, any time you like, my mind is a master at predicting the end of the world, metaphorically, and sometimes that makes me a pretty incompetent mother. My shoe size has also remained the same, though I was warned it may not.

So here we are, at the pivot. About to embark on the greatest, and most mundane adventure of my life. We have much to look forward to. The flu of 2010, riding a bike, devastating realisations of our own mortality whilst sitting on the loo. The pivot is a pinprick, a moment (in this instance a long, painful moment both disempowering and incredibly powerful), a point through which the story cannot pass unhindered, and is bent into another line. The pivot is potent, but often simple. A connection is made, or broken, a hope is dashed, an opportunity is offered, a baby is born. It is the before, and the after, which are interesting.