Dear Little One
with love, your mom, in-progress.
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
About the Creator
Samantha Kaszas
Experienced Storyteller. Amateur Writer.
Here to tell stories and sharpen my craft.
Thank you for stopping by.
@Samanthacarlyk
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.