Magnificent Body

I am usually a very confident woman.
I've never had the habit, as some woman do, of self deprecation.
Maybe it's because I've always been fit.
Even when my tall and lean body filled out into full hips,
I still never minded flaunting what my mamma gave me.
Even after my stomach was decorated with stretch marks.
I still embraced my "motherly" look.

But there is something decidedly unsexy about pregnancy.
My body develops from woman to "baby factory".
All my energy, mental capacity, control over body functions- is sacrificed.
My usually swaying hips awkwardly waddle,
My skin rebels against the increased hormones.
And sex becomes an accomplishment- like pole vaulting.
My husband claims I'm still as sexy as ever,
But it is hard to believe him.

Part of me feels guilty for not embracing the moment.
Many women would love to be in my position and can't.
And I AM amazed that my body can grow organs,
Sustain the life of two people,
Grow and stretch to magnificent proportions.
I am amazed and grateful to my body,
But I still can't say it's sexy.
So I will wait for months like a beached whale,
Until I can be free to jump and spin again.

New Person

I had a fear last time I was pregnant.
I was so worried I wouldn't like my son.
I knew I would love him unconditionally.
But I didn't know if I would LIKE him.
What kind of person would he be?
Would we get along?
I ended up being happily surprised by his spirit.
He is such a laid-back, funny, sweet kid.
He's the kind of guy you could share a pint (of milk) with.

Now we have a new person entering our family.
I am feeling the same sort of worry.
I look down at my growing belly and think,
"Hey who are you in there?"
I have so many dreams and ideas about my children.
I wish so many things for them.
My biggest wish is that they are good people:
Full of Good Character, Charity, and Gratitude.
If I could guarantee these qualities in my children,
The rest can be a sweet surprise.

Clever Girl

I had this dream I was coy and clever.
A gentleman and I shared a conversation about first love:
The expressions, the embraces, and loveliness of it all.
Our conversation danced.
We played clever games with each others words.
I would turn my head and catch his eye with subtle flirtation.
He said he missed the flutterings in his heart.
I said, "If only I could capture those flutterings in my butterfly net."
This one expression made the man fall desperately in love with me.

I wish I were like the part I played in my dream.
I am the antithesis of coy,
My cleverness is intermittent.
I wish I could be quick-witted.
However my tongue and my brain work at varying speeds,
Stumbling my wit in an ungraceful dance.
Then there are times when I create the perfect words- two minutes too late.
Thankfully I am not playing a part in a play.
Real life has far less interesting people,
and they are far more forgiving of faults.

Sunday Promenade

It is dusk.
The setting autumn sky is casting strange shadows.
Arm in arm, my family heads outside for an evening walk.
Our dog, Zoe, wags her tail and prances beside my husband.
My son grabs my hand and walks beside me.
We play little games as we walk.
We practice going "slow" and "fast".
"What's that sound, mama?" he asks.
We hear a chirping noise from our neighbors fenced garden.
"Hummm.... is it a cow?" I ask our two yer old.
"Nooo." he giggles.
"Is it a bear?"
"Nooo!"
"Is it a chicken?"
"Nooo!"
"Oh your right. It's a cricket!"
"A cricket?" He delights in this new word for a few moments
Then we continue our promenade through the quite Sunday streets.

Conflicting with Conflict

I hate conflicts.
Its something my body naturally avoids.
I can't function around angry people.
Irrational anger is an emotion I cannot relate to.
Very little makes me uncontrollably angry.
Sometimes when people yell, it makes me want to laugh.
I brush a lot of things off my shoulder.
I'm selective with my battles.

But there are times I am forced to speak up.
There are times when conflict slaps me in the face.
There are times when I can feel my heart pounding in anger,
Even when my head is saying "calm down."
What do you do in times of conflict?

Some people love it,
They roll around in it.
They blow it out of proportion, just to make it last longer.
You can see the raised heart rate is exciting to them.

Some people blow up fast,
They get everything out of their mind,
A volcanic eruption of emotion and profanity,
And then they restore themselves to rational and calm.

Some people swallow it,
It becomes a part of their bitter being,
The object of their anger may never even know it.
The anger remains long after their memory fails them.

I maul over conflicts,
I will think about the issue for days,
I lose sleep, I lose my appetite.
I meditate on my anger, trying to find the root of it all.
And I won't act until I know what the perfect solution is.

I'm not sure what the best approach to conflict is.
My way results in many fewer conflicts, but it isn't really great on my health.
It can take me days to get over something, I think I may have gotten an ulcer.
Sometimes I wish I could just blow up and move on.
Sometimes I wish I'd come up with the perfect words that would be the slap in the face the offender needed at the moment.
Mostly I just wish conflicts were more avoidable.
Can't we all just be kind, and curtious, and get along?

Surprised by Guilt

Parenting is surprising.

When I was pregnant,
I wondered how I could love someone I never met.
I was surprised at the instant love I felt for my son,
the moment he took his first breathe.

I was surprised at all the things I've done,
that I swore "I'd never do."

I am surprised that I daily say sentences like,
"Yay! Pee Pee on the potty!"
"Sharing is a lot more fun. See it's nice when we share."
"Stop that is enough. I said stop! No!"
"We can watch choo choo trains after we eat dinner."

I am surprised by my strength.
I am sometimes surprised by my shortcomings.

But mostly, I am surprised by guilt.
Parenting a child has a unique way of highlighting all your faults.
I never thought I was very selfish or short tempered before,
But somehow my sweet two year old,
points these faults out in me in a way only he can.
I feel guilty that all my parenting trials and errors are tested on my first born.
I feel guilty for washing dishes when my son wants me to play.
I feel guilty for taking shortcuts when I'm exhausted.
I feel guilty for losing my temper sometimes, on stuff that is no big deal.

All this weighted guilt compounds itself with an overall uncertainty.
Am I doing this right?
Is this okay?
Can I trust my instincts?
Will my son talk about me to his psychiatrist one day?

Raising a child in love is one of the most self-less things you can do,
I knew it would be hard,
It's the guilt, the uncertainity that is hard to swallow.
I can't get a parenting report card... maybe that is a good thing.

Waiting

I've been waiting months for a red tomato from my garden.
I have enjoyed a few cherry tomatoes,
(though the cat birds have enjoyed more.)
I've served up romas, and these pretty round yellow tomatoes- the size of tennis balls.
But there are still three plants holding out on me.
I planted them because it was a heirloom called "mortgage lifters."
They are big tomatoes, the kind you hold with two hands,
The kind you slice thick and drip down your chin when you bite into them.
They have been large and green for a long time.
Teasing me with their delicious possibilities.
Last week, I noticed a few had begun to flush.
They have soft pink flesh that is still too young to pick.
I watch their progress everyday,
Praying for their safety from the many creatures that lurk in my garden.
It has been a long time waiting for that first big red tomato.

I have a little belly now.
Not big enough for everyone to notice.
It peaks out of tighter shirts,
It blossoms slowly under my sundress.
Inside there are so many possibilities.
A life starting small and growing into something incredible.
But like my baby plants,
I need to wait in patience.
All I can do is carefully track its progress,
Pray for safety from so many unknowns,
And hope for sweet things to come.
But mostly all I have to do is wait.
Though I desperately want to see my child's face,
The sweetest things in life are worth waiting for.