By the time I reached my eighth month of pregnancy, life had narrowed in ways I never imagined. Every step required thought, every errand drained me. My body felt foreign—stretched, sore, yet purposeful. I carried life within me, and though that filled me with quiet pride, it also left me exhausted in ways no one had warned me about.
That evening should have been ordinary. My husband and I went to the market, nothing unusual. But by the time we returned, my legs ached, my back throbbed, and the weight of the day pressed down. I asked my husband to carry the grocery bags inside.
