- Plus a few -
Since you were unwrapped
From my tight, stretched tummy.
A gift -
Surprisingly fair and red and blond
So unlike your
Dark-skinned brother.
The Sandal's wedding song
played over the surgeon's
Pandora station
As you were plucked from inside me
And taken to be weighed and
baby-tortured in your first few
oxygen-breathing moments.
What went through my mind?
Thoughts of joy and exhaustion and
Tingly-pain,
Mingled with randomness:
That is a good song.
I'm glad he was born to that.
The next few days were full of
Morphine and marveling
My heart over-saturated
Tired
Processing
A veteran mother,
but a rookie again
to you and your cries,
wants, needs.
In the tradition of all new mothers,
the thought-question-challenge
slipped in and out, out and in
as I fingered your hands,
cradled your head,
traced your nose:
Am I up to this task?
365 days later
- Plus a few -
The question still hangs
And, will, always, I think.
A good question:
One that reminds me of
My mission,
My limits,
My dependency on the divine.
I could write
For a year and some days
About this tension:
the impossible task
of raising a person
to be better than me -
isn't that every parent's dream?
But - just now
I hear you waking
Your tiny yawn,
Your sleepy stirring.
You jolt up - startled,
scared
But then you see me
Typing here on the floor.
Your face relaxes
As you settle back in
To dream a little more.
It's not that complicated,
You seem to say.
You are just glad
That the bed is soft,
Your belly is full,
And Mama is here.
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