Da newborn truth

I thought Baby A was smiling spontaneously this morning, but her smile faded slowly into a resoundingly satisfying burp… Sometimes it *is* just gas.

_

DAUGHTER

You have your brother’s ears

Folded over in origami

Except where his is

A leaf beginning its unfurl

You little girl, have flower buds

Planted at the sides of your head.

Your eyes, nose, mouth so wide

Your cheeks, long fingers, toes,

Your rage, and an almost smile,

All exactly, like your father’s—

So he asserts. Frequently. Fondly.

And sadly (smile), quite wrongly.

You’ve been here three weeks

Only I’ve yet to make my claim

And play the same-same game.

Although in secret still, your rings

Of softness, your new heft, make

The sting of my milk's let-down thrill:

All of you. My flesh. My blood.

__

At 39 Weeks

These days

are tied down

mostly

by print and paper

or they stay

asleep

firm, ripe plum,

plump.

Still your hands

seem webs or nests

--places

that are home

And i miss twisting

around you like flame,

making you disappear

inch by inch,

sweetly, in sweat:

while your touch

like twilight, smudges

me purple-tinged.

_

Deliver Me

I am terrified.

I finally read the sections on labor and delivery in the baby books. It sounds (understatement follows) uncomfortable. C-sections sound scarier. In case you weren’t already aware, the baby comes out through the vagina and in a c-section, the surgeon cuts through three layers of your body. Why don’t we deliver babies through our nostrils, I wonder. Female anatomical design totally sucks.

There’s guaranteed to be an abundance of pain and gore before we actually meet baby. Unfortunately, I think I have a body that can only handle pleasure. I’ve never complained about being pampered. Ever. (You can check this out independently if you like.)

To make matters worse, I started reading an article by Atul Gawande in an anthology of science writing because I thought it was about Apgar testing (and because he said Virginia Apgar grew up in the next town over) and then it turned out to be about some poor woman who was in labor for 30+ hours and then had to have a c-section.

Now I have nightmares about how my sweet, cooing baby is trapped inside of me. And I’m convinced that the reason I haven’t gone into labor yet is because I’m terrified by the idea. I already suck at being a mom.

_

BUT

If you tucked me in

tucked my head

under your chin,

if you breathed

my dreams and

whispered them

back to me as if

you've seen them too.

If on our lips

new devotions

sucked at sound

and my tangled hair,

then my mouth could be

more than a metaphor,

and I could confess

to you that

even from

three cities away,

your touch

shadows me.

Like your name

screamed aloud

then chased by my

need to whisper it again.

__

We’re Not Expecting Some Delicate Flower

Big A left for work at some unearthly hour before 6 this am; Li’l A promptly showed up in my bed for a pre-breakfast snuggle.

So here we are, my nose aligned with his baby-shampooed hairline, his butt backed into my belly. It’s perfect. Until he abruptly (and indignantly) scoots upright.

The baby! She kicked my butt!

_

CALLING

Pilot

I ask for directions

Bent over me,

Breath plays

As you explain

Now I’m really

Lost.

Rockstar

I rock on

The heft

Of your hand

It would be shallow

To love you

Just for this.

(But I could.)

General

Mouth pulsing

You start a war

Your words are

Works in progress

And bite like ice

Shock like sheet lightning

Like sunstroke

Like revelation.

You started a war

But your entreaty

Hides here, in touch.