I heard a phrase this week: nine months in, nine months out. My son turns nine months old today, and the time he has spent in the world now matches the time he spent growing inside me. A period of time that felt like an impossible forever and the blink of an eye all at once.

Pregnancy now feels distant - softer, even. When I think of those months last year, I don’t think about the six straight months of throwing up, the leg cramps, or the aversion to anything except instant noodles and fizzy juice. Instead, I remember the weight of him, the constant awareness of my body as something shared. I remember the small kicks that became rolls, and the tiny hiccups that seemed endless in the night. I remember the rocky midwife appointments on board the doctor’s boat, and the sound of his heartbeat echoing in the ship’s cabin. It was a long nine months, yes, but looking back now, it was magical.

Postpartum, on the other hand, was different. It was immediate, physical, and often humbling. There is a particular........

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