Tiny New Toes

is it your first?

Depression came a’drummin on my door.
She’s no stranger. I’ve seen her before.
I asked her in for a spot of tea,
she bounced my toddler on her knee.

you can stay for one,” I politely pressed
but I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong address,
there’s far more than cake on my expanding plate,
and I’m pretty certain you’ve got the wrong date

My two year old keeps me on my toes
and I’ve exciting news, everyone knows
makes you bundle with joy, bloom, glow, shine
we’re having a baby! In four months’ time.

we tried for this, the best part of a year
so I’m pretty certain this is a time for cheer!
our second miracle is on its way
so as I said, you truly can’t stay.”

She put down her cup and shook her head
“If that’s what you think, you’ve been misled,
I’ve a blatant disregard for all of the facts
frankly my love, I don’t give a rats

Baby or no baby, I’m here to stay
Spread the word mamma, I’m wired that way.”

Now as I sit in the dark, the dark sits in me
and I weep, as I rock my toddler on my knee

when the house is still, I wonder at it all
as tiny new toes come tapping on my inside wall.

The New human Being

They’ve given me a new human

with rice paper limbs

They took it from me

Though I’m sure that can not be

They’ve let me take it away

from a building of people

who know better than me

and have health care degrees

he squints into my eyes

we both look fucking terrified

they’ve given me a new human being

and my job is to keep it breathing

I’m sure any moment

they’ll realise their mistake

till then I’ll try to let it feed from me

We can cling to each other

like clueless life rafts

in this ridiculous sea

Maybe it’s all not lost

I read a book once

and I went to one class

Maybe they’ll let me keep him

if I love him hard enough

I’ve got a feeling deep down

I might be made of stronger stuff

his shoulders fit within my knuckles

his robin chest rises up and down

who left this precious speck of gold

with this absolute clown?

all we can do is cling to each other’s chests

and hope for the best

not now

but maybe in a few years

you’ll see me as home

and I’ll laugh about the time

I held you in my clueless hands

as delicate as glass

I guess I’m your mum

I guess you are home

 

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I’d be sexy if…

I’d be sexy if it weren’t for these nipple pads
right now, no amount of make up can get rid of these bags.
I’d be sexy if it weren’t for the scar
and the overhang
my big baggy pants
and my nursing bra.
I’d be sexy in skinny jeans
without the outline of my maternity towel
Plus bloated ankles in compression stockings don’t half look foul.
The surgeon made me go pop
leaving a deflated muffin top
a complete absence of tone
or ability to make out my bones
and all parts of me are leaking
and my nipples take an all day tweaking
You say breast feeding will get down my weight
like I haven’t got enough on my plate
You say I’m getting back my figure
like my issues can’t get any bigger.
Give me a minute
Just to be a new mother
Then I’ll get back to being an object
of criticism for another
give me a week to remain in our bubble
before I’m forced to urgently resurrect my vessel from the rubble

Why is it you?

mummy's writing darling

Why is it you?

 

At age two, to a goose, I wouldn’t say boo
whereas you son, would shoot it and stuff it too.

Why is it you?

who cant sit still, while fifteen others do,
Who has to play with the fire extinguisher on the wall,
while everyone else is queuing, single file, down the hall?

Why is it you who has to snatch the block off the three month old,
who doesn’t seem to acknowledge anything you are told,
who needs to jump up and down at the front,
who has to roar, bark, gurn and grunt?

Why do you always rugby tackle the babies,
leap and stomp and stamp on the daisies?

When others are sitting, listening sweetly in a trance,
why are you performing a deranged, erratic, river dance?

When everyone is singing ‘twinkle twinkle little star’ notes
why are you trying to shove the maracas down your throat?

Why is it you – and seemingly no other?
Can you not see everyone judging your mother?

When you turn five and all you ask is why,
why, why, why, why, why?

I shall say, great question son, glad you asked
Why, when you were two, were you such an arse?

poetry, mummy's writing darling
why is it you?

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Is it your first?

Is it your first?

Aw… is it your first?

The questions only increase

As the bump increases

She smiles and nods

The easier answer – for them

For her – sometimes

Other times she wants to tell her story

But her story’s too long

Too long for pleasantries

With vacant acquaintances

Some days she wants to scream

“Stop getting me to casually deny

the other times I’ve held life inside”

Because it’s not the first

Between you and me

But the story is hers and hers alone

And the question is innocent

They couldn’t have known

So she smiles

“Yes, this is my first”

And crosses her toes

For her precious secrets

The secret lost souls