Prepare – Emotions and Thoughts on the Journey to Motherhood
I’m feeling vulnerable in sharing these poems with you. They are rough and, as you will quickly see, I’m not a poet. But I wrote them and am sharing them just the same so please be gentle with me (and blame Hobo Mama.)
Prepare – Week One
This week we’re considering the planning and waiting that goes into considering parenting: fertility, conception, loss, frustration, anticipation, and hope.
Fertile
Some open
Some closed
Some undecided
Some forever for
None truly prepared
One egg waiting
Every month
For some
For others, none
What will that egg become?
What hope lies in that egg?
What sadness at it’s loss might come?
When will the waiting and hoping and praying all end in the meeting hoped for?
For some, soon
For some, not
Waiting
Waiting for the pain to ebb
Wanting no more of the same
Waiting for the moment when
I realize I was not to blame
Feeling numb and sorry and sad
Knowing I won’t ever forget this grief
Feeling loss as a fierce enemy
Not being able to sleep, just sleep
Time will mend and time will heal
But nothing will erase
Time can only make it better
When I can see his face
Body
It betrays me
Makes me whimper in the agony
Creating new cells slays me.
I grimace under its cruel game
Life, beautiful in it’s creation
Yet leaves me pleading for relief
I wonder at the strange sensations
That leave me weak and faint and bleak
I long for solace, for rest, for strength
But that is not my lot
My lot is to remain in pain
While work is done within
Without I look white, horrible and frail
Within I know the beauty lies, the miracle, the reason
I must embrace my season
I must embrace my season
Nesting
Neatly folded
Extra cloth diapers
Sit in his nursery
Too many burp cloths, too.
In his closet, clothing is all hung by size.
Nothing is missing except the baby.
Greatly anticipated is his arrival.
Taking Care
Resting and
Nourishing and
Reading and
Visualizing and
Praying and
Feeding and
Listening and
Waiting.
Fears
Baby boy, you are like a blank canvas.
I endeavor to paint each stroke carefully, but paint splatters at times.
Baby boy, there is so much out there for you to embrace, but a lot to refrain from as well.
I pray you choose wisely, that you know the difference.
Baby boy, I am here now, but I won’t always be.
I hope I can convey some things, the important things, in a way you will know what they are.
Baby boy, I will always worry. I will always love.
And sometimes, they really are the same thing.
Hope
How I lost it
But through a long process
I gained it back
Yes, Hope
Came to fruition
With her birth
Swimming up to me
Surprising and full of wonder
That moment
I met my daughter
My hope, my prayer
My Marcella
