being real
As a woman who has carried twins and three singletons, I can attest that pregnancy and birth never leave you the same woman as you were before. It’s a birth every time, and I don’t mean for the baby, I mean for the mother.
Changed
Changed
A form is changed no longer thin
with curtseyed hips now stools for kin,
and silver threads on weary skin
prove medals from babes once within.
Breasts now at rest, nourishment they gave
sweet days of dependence you cannot save,
a crawl a step, we must be brave,
the babes grow still, more growth they crave.
sweet days of dependence you cannot save,
a crawl a step, we must be brave,
the babes grow still, more growth they crave.
The curves which held the angels sweet
which felt the thrust of tiny feet,
now feel the pang of scorn and tears
and critic’s eyes and mocking mirrors.
The wishing now for younger years
consumes the mind with prideful fears.
which felt the thrust of tiny feet,
now feel the pang of scorn and tears
and critic’s eyes and mocking mirrors.
The wishing now for younger years
consumes the mind with prideful fears.
But all too soon there comes the part
with no more babes to cradle and cart,
and true the space below my heart
anticipates new life to start.
with no more babes to cradle and cart,
and true the space below my heart
anticipates new life to start.
-Missy
