Just Once More

We Three · 06-27-2002, 01:28 AM

JUST ONCE MORE

I'd like to be pregnant just once more. I'd like to see a plus sign on a
pregnancy test and do a dance of joy on the bathroom floor. I'd like to
tell my husband, "We did it," and see the joy on his face. I'd like to
walk with my secret in those early months, a proud grin on my mouth,
inexplicable to those who do not know. I'd like to take prenatal
vitamins every day. Just once more, I'd like to feel my clothes grow
tighter and let that make me smile. I'd like to tell my daughter there's
a tiny baby in my tummy, a brother or a sister for us to love. I'd like
to see her eyes grow wide and her heart full with happiness that I know
will turn to envy. I'd like to worry about how she will adjust to her
mommy caring for another child. Just once more, I'd like to feel this
family grow.

Just once more, I'd like to watch my body swell. I'd like to look at
myself in the mirror and rub cocoa butter on my hips and my breasts. I'd
like to take warm naps when the sleepiness comes. I'd like to take
loving care of myself. Just once more, I'd like to make passersby smile
at my enormous middle, and cause strangers to open doors and carry
groceries for me. I'd like to feel the envy of the women in my life,
those who will give advice and remember, for a moment, what it feels
like to carry life inside of you. Just once more, I'd like to wear that
womanly sacredness.
Just once more, I'd like to feel the movement inside me, and try to
guess which body part is pressing on my ribs. I'd like to feel the
gentle nudge of a baby's hiccups in my guts. I'd like to take my
daughter's hand, and place it precisely on my skin, where it ripples and
undulates. I'd like to peer over my stomach to find my toes, and watch
my belly button turn inside out. Just once more, I'd like someone to be
a part of me walking.

Just once more, I'd like to go to sleep at night, too big to be
comfortable. I'd like to wonder if I will sleep through the night, or if
labor will come before tomorrow. I'd like to feel the first
contraction and get out the stopwatch. Just once more, I'd like to ride
the waves of contractions, howling. I'd like to marvel at the strength
of my body. Just once more, I'd like to squeeze my husband's hands when
it hurts, and have them massage my back when it subsides. I'd like to
breathe those funny breaths and hum that strange, guttural tone. Just
once more I'd like to bring forth a child, slippery and wet from the
depths of my body. I'd like to feel God move through me.

Just once more, I would like to undress a newborn child and count the
toes and fingers. I would like to see my husband's eyes looking back at
me from the face in my arms. I'd like to look for birthmarks, and place
my finger in a tiny powerful fist. I'd like to turn names over in my
mind, listening to the sound of them with our family names, and see if
they match the new face in my arms. Just once more, I'd like to see a
soul with a new body and a new name.

Just once more, I'd like to hold a child at my breast and feel the milk
let down, ready to nourish and comfort. I'd like to feel my breasts
heavy and uncomfortable, so full the milk squirts out when I take a warm
shower. I'd like to hold that child to my chest and rock and sing. I'd
like, just once more, to feel my shirt wet, warm and sticky from milk
too ready to pour. Just once more, I would like to be more animal than
human, connected to all the living mothers in fur or in skin.

Just once more, I'd like to fold tiny clothes, change tiny diapers. I'd
like to help my daughter hold this new baby for the first time. I'd like
to see my husband sway an infant in his massive arms. I'd like to fill
the house with baby things: blankets and toys, a swing and a bassinet.
I'd like to feel the relief of getting a child to sleep, finally, and
the tension of checking for breath throughout the night. I'd like to
wish again for just one uninterrupted night of sleep. Just once more,
I'd like to live when the days and nights are no longer marked by
light and darkness, but full and empty stomachs.

Just once more, I'd like to host the visitors, the well-wishers, the
gift- bringers. I'd like to hold my newest child up proudly for viewing.
I'd like to see my mother cry at the miracle of this new life. I'd like
to hand the baby to my husband so that I could hold and cradle my
daughter. I'd like to tell her about the time that she was as small and
needy as her new sibling, and how we tended her as gently.

Just once more, I'd like to let love multiply

Author Unknown

Andy Fisher · 07-09-2002, 06:40 AM

I was really touched by your Poem. Thanks for sharing it. I hope the best for you. It made me reflect on how my fiancee and I would feel if we were not able to concieve. It makes me feel good to read your poem. thank you.