sometimesihatemycat

I keep feeling the pull to write something for my daughter.  I wonder if writing for me IS in fact writing for her.  But that does not quite fill the romantic notion that keeps showing up in my brain and that I keep feeling in my gut.  The writer, and meditator, in me says to keep doing what I am doing and that is enough.  The mother, and perhaps mammal, in me says I must compile some sentimental work of wonder as a legacy for my baby girl.  That baby is now a 6-year-old firecracker.  And, still I struggle with how to write for her…or even IF I should write for her. Do I just write, or write “for?”  That same old question of expectations comes to the surface again.

So here is a compromise and a start:

Amidst the blood and pain

In a flash of a moment

You were trapped

So I was willing to be ripped apart

And there you were

Scarlet cheeked,  overwhelmed, and screaming

As you swung your fists on my belly

I shared the terror in your eyes

“tell me about it kid”

Escaped my lips before I could edit

It wasn’t romantic but it was real

“we” were formed

In a pool of human mess and exhaustion

You and I then looked at your father

And We were settled

~ by April on June 4, 2012.

Posted in Motherhood, Poetry, Ramblings & Observations