Hours stretch out: finite time twisting and turning to infinity. The woman slouches back on the couch, her chin down and eyes glued to the screen warming her lap. The couch is her only companion in the room, surrounded by stark white walls and dusty wood floors. Windows line the white walls, streaked dirt from past raindrops filtering the sunshine.

She sighs, tilts her head from side to side and then resumes the chin-down position. From this angle she can see both the screen in front of her as well as the Buddha belly that protrudes from her, almost abutting the edge of the laptop and slightly obscuring her view of the mousepad. Within the belly, she feels the throb of the life inside her kicking out and down. But nothing significant. Nothing to give any indication that her Buddha belly would be--in fact already was--another living being that would have it's own personality, thoughts, frustrations and joys. For now, there was only the belly--kicking and present but still an undeniable part of her.