Chapter Seventeen
The Unexpected Second Act

Being seven months postpartum, I wasn't in a rush to lose all the baby weight or accept my new body. But, lately, I have started noticing changes I hadn't expected.

My jeans were fitting a little tighter, and when I looked in the mirror, there was an unfamiliar softness that seemed to have settled in. It wasn't that I hadn't been moving—I had. I had gotten back into dancing, something that had always been an outlet for me.

It was an act of reclaiming myself, of reminding me that beyond being a mom, I was still me. But as the weeks turned into months, I felt like my body was fighting me. It was like I was holding onto something that wouldn't let go.

It wasn't like I hadn't thought about this before, the idea that my body might never snap back into shape or look the way it did before having Ocean. My body had changed in ways that I didn't know were possible, but I had learned to love those changes.

My new curves were reminders of her, of the way she had grown inside me and made me into a mother. But even though I accepted that change, there was something different about the weight gain that started to make me feel restless.

The numbers on the scale were slowly creeping up and the dresses that I used to fit into snugly just months ago now made me feel like I was wearing a straightjacket.

I couldn't shake the thought that something else might be at play. Part of me didn't want to entertain it, but the idea crept in and wouldn't leave.

I was seven months postpartum, after all. I felt like I was finally in a groove with everything: Ocean's schedule, the late-night feedings that had become routine, and the way I could balance my time between her needs and my own. I was getting a taste of normalcy, but what if I was about to throw it all up in the air again?

It was during one of these moments of unease that I realized I needed to take control of something, anything. I needed a purpose beyond keeping up with my daughter and trying to make it to the grocery store without forgetting half the items on my list.

So, I started going back to the one thing that had always made me feel alive—dancing. I had always told myself that once I felt ready, I'd start going back to classes, maybe even teaching again. But the classes I wanted, the ones that made me feel energized, safe, and supported, were nowhere to be found. It was like they just didn't exist.

And so, I made one.

I created a dance class that was meant for women like me. Women who knew what it was like to look in the mirror and not recognize the reflection, women who needed a moment to remember that their bodies were beautiful and strong, no matter what. The idea took off faster than I could have imagined.

The class was a small, tight-knit group of moms and women who were searching for the same thing I was—a safe space to let go and move in a way that felt good. The laughter, the energy, and the camaraderie were like a balm for the soul. It was exactly the postpartum pick-me-up I needed.

The studio was full of music and energy that day. The floors creaked under our feet as we moved, an uneven but familiar sound that made me feel like I was home again.

Every smile, every high-five exchanged at the end of a song, and every breathless moment of shared joy was a reminder that I was more than just a mother. I was part of something bigger—a community of women finding their way back to themselves, one song at a time.

After class that day, I was still feeling the rush of endorphins. The room had cleared out except for one dancer who lingered. She was wiping her brow, a look of contentment on her face when she came over to talk. I knew her well enough to greet her with a smile, but we hadn't shared more than pleasantries before.

"Hey, I just wanted to tell you," she said, taking a deep breath, "I'm pregnant again. Four months after having my baby."

I felt a rush of surprise and an inexplicable pang of recognition. Four months? It was just a blink. I couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to be in her shoes, pregnant so soon after having Ocean.

But more than that, the thought of pregnancy had planted a tiny seed in the back of my mind, one I couldn't ignore. My body had felt different lately, and it wasn't just the extra weight.

There were other signs—things that could easily be explained away as a part of postpartum recovery or just the ebb and flow of my own body's rhythm. But what if?

It was a small idea, an ember that had been sparked, but it grew quickly as I packed up my things and said goodbye. As I left the studio, the weight of it settled in my chest. Could I be pregnant? The thought seemed almost laughable.

Joe and I had been active in the last few months, and though I knew we'd been careful, a small, nervous flutter began in my chest. I could almost hear the ticking of the clock in my mind. It had been seven months. How did time pass so quickly?

By the time I got home, Ocean had already fallen asleep in her crib. The house was quiet, the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards the only sounds breaking the silence.

I stood in the bathroom, staring at the pregnancy test in my hands, my heart pounding. The fluorescent light overhead seemed too harsh, but I couldn't look away. The minutes felt like hours as I waited for the result.

I thought of Annika, her soft giggles, and the way she'd reach for my hands, pulling herself up to stand. I thought of the way my body had changed to bring her into the world. I thought of what it would mean if I was pregnant again, how my days would shift, how my life would be reshaped in ways I couldn't predict.

There was a possibility of joy, of course, and the idea was as scary as it was exciting. The unknown was like a swirling cloud of feelings I couldn't pin down.

The test was simple—a line for negative, and two lines for positive. I felt my pulse quicken as I leaned in, squinting in the dim light. The first line appeared clearly, and then, almost before I could breathe, a second line began to show up. Fainter at first, but it was unmistakable.

My eyes darted between the test and my reflection in the mirror, where a mixture of disbelief and excitement danced across my face.

I was pregnant.

The first rush of emotions was a heady mix of shock, excitement, fear, and a profound sense of change. There was no manual for how to navigate moments like this, especially after being in the thick of it with a seven-month-old.

But one thing was certain—I would need to learn how to embrace the new adventure that was coming, one step at a time. For now, I let the moment sink in, and I smiled, a little uncertainly but wholly, deeply. I was ready for whatever this next chapter would bring.