I somehow have so many desires that I feel like I’m overflowing, but not like a fountain and not like a bottle. More like a bushy rosebush climbing up a jabby tree and overflowing with sunshine. In my imagination, our baby in the womb has become half a person already, has become half addressable. I picture them not really conscious, but clearly there, dreaming a long, obscure dream, faced with a dim glow, not yet breathing like we think of breathing, but rolling around, maybe or maybe not interacting with us, maybe just taking up space in the world. Sometimes it’s hilarious that there’s a baby inside my partner’s body.