The Shape of Life

"Ghosts don't exist."

That is what I felt
when I brought my son into this world.

If the fact that "life is born"
is this vivid and "certain,"
then the moment "life passes away"
must surely be "certain" as well.

There are certainly no such uncertain things as ghosts.

While watching the baby
being held up by the obstetrician,
that is what I was thinking.

The birth was painfully agonizing.
During labor, I felt like screaming "Stop it, help me" many times.
Every time a wave of contractions came,
I thought my stomach would burst.
The certain pain
of life being born from my own body.

It goes without saying, but
after giving birth,
the pain disappears easily, as if it were a lie.
The intense pain I had endured for hours, for tens of hours,
suddenly vanishes without a trace.
Even though it hurt so much,
after a few years, I've already forgotten it. That kind of pain.

When I found out I was pregnant,
the first words out of his mouth were,
"Is it mine?"
The second words were,
"Let's give up on this one."

Perhaps partly because of that,
I could not honestly be happy
about this sudden pregnancy.

He spent his days gambling and had no job,
so we couldn't make ends meet, and on top of that, there was debt.
He was against me giving birth, and surely he had no intention of marrying me either.

In my life with him,
"If I can't work, life will be over."
That worry was always there.
"What should I do about being pregnant in this situation?"
There was nothing but anxiety.

"Please decide by next week."
The obstetrician said with a stern face.
If I don't decide by next week,
the option of "not giving birth" will disappear.
Time is up.

Morning sickness had begun.
I felt nauseous when I was hungry,
and I kept thinking while retching, even though I couldn't vomit.

Should I give birth, or not?
What would happen to my life after that?

No matter how much I thought about it, I went in circles.
I was cornered.

At the second checkup, I saw the ultrasound image.
Shaped like a magatama,
something I wasn't sure if I could call a "baby",

"The shape of life"

It didn't have the shape of a human yet, but
it was truly alive.


I was "shocked."

I knew it. As knowledge.
That I was a creature capable of "pregnancy."

The "shock" and "agitation"
of experiencing that "pregnancy," the reality that "life resides" within my own body.
I hadn't opened my stomach and seen it, but

I could feel that it was certainly there.
Even at this very moment, it is steadily growing inside me.

It is reality.

I wonder if everyone else had thought about it.

Perhaps I am the only one who has just been living
a carefree life,

what it means for a life to be conceived within oneself,
and what that truly entails.

I wonder if everyone else had the resolve.

For me, having a life conceived within me meant

being struck by nausea all day long,
being told to give up,
being told to make a decision,
and being hit by a shock that made me tremble.

It meant facing

anxiety, loneliness, and weakness.

Ah, it is impossible.

There was no choice from the beginning.
I cannot choose not to give birth to the life
that is truly there.

Let's give up this time.
I ruminate on his words.

Even if there were a next time for pregnancy,
there is no next time for this child.

Even if he abandons everything, I do not care.
I will give birth to this child and raise them.

I made up my mind.

Surprisingly, he accepted it.

Prenatal checkups are not considered medical treatment, so they are not covered by insurance.
That is why they inevitably cost money.

I was told to come in at least once every two weeks until I reached the stable period, but I was only able to go for prenatal checkups about once every two months.
It was fine because my condition was stable, but
there are cases where lives are lost during this period.
The doctor scolded me severely.

Thinking about the birth and what would follow,
it was decided that I would transfer to a hospital I could commute to from my parents' home.

For the move,
I carefully cleaned the apartment room I had lived in for many years.
I wanted to make it as clean as it was when I first moved in.
My 'place,' where I lived alone for the first time.
I loved this town.

Walking around the neighborhood, watching old movies I rented from an old video store until morning,
taking the plunge and going into nice-looking restaurants by myself,
every day was a big adventure, and every day I was excited.

Before I knew it,
he, who was like a typhoon, came tumbling in,
a life battered by wind and rain began,
and before I realized it, I had ended up in a place like this.

'Goodbye. Thank you for everything until now.'

While cradling my large belly,
I locked the door to that room full of memories.

On a hot summer day, my son was born small.
He was in an incubator for a while, but he is healthy.

Just when I felt relieved that his job was settled,
he quit again after one week.
So, although it was brief,
I think this was the most
peaceful and happy time I had while living with him.

It is better for a 'mother' to be bright and strong.
It is definitely better to be sharp about 'living'.
If I live aimlessly like I do,
I cannot protect anything.

Whether being 'born' into this world
is truly a 'happy' thing,
I do not know.

Much less,
I do not know if the 'life' that was born to me
is 'happy'.

But,
this 'life' that was born from me,
that is not me,

even if they cannot go so far as to think
'I'm glad I was born',

if they could just think 'this is fun,' 'I'm happy,' or 'this is precious',
if they could think that,

and if they could think that as many times as possible while they are alive,
then that would be enough.


Today, too, I am fumbling my way through raising a life.