Whatever your future looked like before, it changed the moment he came inside you. The moment his seed took root inside you, the entire trajectory of your life shifted, changing in countless ways and not all of them are tangible.
Some of the tangible ones are obvious. Your body changes, swelling outward into the picture of fertility of motherhood, not all of which will fade after you give birth. Your hips remain permanently widened, your breasts just a bit more swollen than they were before (perhaps more than a bit) and, though they may fade in color, the stretch marks will never fully disappear.
They're not just limited to your body, though. Your career, your plans, everything gets upturned. You have a baby now. You have someone reliant on you, dependent on you. Whatever money you had budgeted for vacations or going out with friends becomes a college fund, becomes a crib and diapers, eventually becomes school supplies. Your child, a part of you and the man who bred you made physical, will change your life in ways you couldn't even imagine, ripples spreading out over a pond.
But some of the changes can't be held, can't be touched. You've been bred. You surrendered your body to man, let him claim you in the way that men have claimed the mothers of their children for centuries, millennia, since the dawn of man, the dawn of life itself. His life is largely, maybe even entirely unchanged, but you took his seed, grew his child, let him take hold of your life and body and reshape them into something new.
And yet, when it happened, all you knew was that it felt so good, so right. Even if you could go back to that moment and warn yourself, you still would have wrapped your legs around him, instinct taking over to make sure that every last drop gets pushed as deep into you as possible. It was inevitable. Motherhood, for you, was inevitable.
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