Dear Little One

Dear Little One,

.

Your rumbles rock

in my tummy

like underwater eruptions,

or waves, gently rolling.

Your way of calling

each day.

.

With a soothing caress

I call my response,

hand hovering over

a burgeoning belly.

Your eager hello bumps upon

the soft of my palm.

.

My reality humbled by

your arrival. The body I’ve known

becoming a home,

my purpose now

more than a singular

being.

.

With each day you grow

like a seed in my garden,

your progress oft counted

in produce. Last week,

you weighed-in at a beet, today,

well on your way to a cabbage.

.

Nearly ripe,

for arrival,

my dear.

.

Some days my breath slows,

the weight of my womb

hauls me down like a new

type of gravity

that seems to recentre me, and

leaves me wondering, how?

.

How can I hold you, as you go

from a seed, to a beet,

to a towering tree?

Then, your fierce fists pound

and I remember.

I remember this body.

.

This body was made, to grow.

.

With love,

Your Mom,

In-Progress