THE CHILD - NEW BEGINNINGS

JOURNEY
(New Beginnings)



Ultrasound - Seven Weeks

Tiny thing
Little dot on the screen
That the person in white
Says is You

You...
YOU!!!
Who are You?

What do you do...
When a dream comes true?



Third Month


Happy hormones...
These days I spend most of my time
On my knees in the bathroom
Worship posture
To the mighty hormone
Dream maker
Life bringer
I no longer choose food by what will stay down
But by what is better coming up
I must lay down every half hour
And seriously wonder each time
If I will ever rise again
I cry because Beethoven never heard
His own ninth symphony
Because a farmer from Idaho
Won a game show
Because of the sweet dappling sun
Draped against my dogwood tree
Because my father thinks my mother
Is beautiful
I cry often
For no reason at all
These happy hormones
Have shaken me like a snow-globe

But when I am able to be still
I find
Love
Sifting down soft and deep
All around the thought of
You




Seventh Month

Tiny child
Pushing with small strong
Arms or legs insistent against the inside
Of my stretched skin
What are you dreaming of
In your dark still world?
What do you see with your
Newly opened eyes?

Firm, soft pressure against
My hands
Spread like sensors over
Where your self must be...
Keep moving...
Keep pushing...

I send you oxygen from the
Air of this foreign world...
And protein from an egg...
And such strange
Choking love
That somehow you must feel
Radiating in waves
From my wide spread
Waiting hands



Eighth Month

In a tired, happy way
I wait for you
Slow and quiet
Under the grey Maine sky
And for the first time
My mind happily throws away the summer
Smiling a slow, tired smile
At each leaf rusting from green to brown
At the chill that means the winter is coming..
Soft in the wind
Each day shorter
Each day colder
Rolling like a downhill rock
Under the grey Maine sky
Bringing winter into the world
And you into my arms



Ninth Month

And yet
In all my anxiousness
There is something in me
Unwilling to give up this bond
That binds you to me so completely
that holds your new and shinning life
Moving under my hands...
Between my ribs...
Within me..
Inside me...
Part of my heart

And when you can breathe this
Worlds atmosphere alone
Filling your untried lungs with it..
Holding your own head up...
Looking with only slightly blurring eyes
Upon the world of light...
Will you still be the same creature?
Will I really see the tiny
Fists and feet whose touch
I know so well?
Or will you be someone new?



April Star - Six Months Old

You have cherubim cheeks
And a sprite in your eyes
Constant motion packaged
Round and pink
Where are you going in
Such a wiggle hurry
With the call of a baby elephant
My living...
Shooting star?



Impatience - Seven Months Old

Impatience...
Before she was born she wanted to dance
Before she could roll over
She needed to see what was on the other side
Before she could crawl...she rolled
Because she had to get from here to there
Before she can walk
Something tells her to run
She can not talk
And she has so much to say
She is a reaching arm
With her hand stretched out
Impatience...
Keep reaching for the world
Keep stretching for the stars



Valentine - One Year Old

Oh, deep black velvet eyes
That sparkle stars from outside
And glow secret candles from within
Oh, little head
So full of new found thoughts
Covered soft with sunbrown down
Oh, tiny jeans and oatmealed face
Conquering...
Climbing to the top of any accessible anything
Oh, shining new world to understand
Oh, books and more books
Investigating the every of everything
That is touched upon by the eager stars
Of those black velvet eyes
Oh, sweet sprite dancing,
singing,
clapping,
laughing,
Sunshine laughter of a mountain spring
Oh, bumps and bruises
Oh, tears and comforts
Oh, deep black velvet eyes
Oh, little girl
I love you



First Day of Nursery School

I didn't sleep for a week
Worrying about the step we were about to take
My child
The child that I had carried and nurtured, loved to distraction
And spoiled
Stepping out for the first time
Alone
Her soft brown eyes vulnerable, framed by soft brown curls
How could I leave her?
What if someone hurt her?
What if something made her cry
And my ever ready shoulder wasn't there?
"But", I lectured myself
"She must be independent
A strong capable woman someday . . . "
So, on the fateful day off we went
Her new lunch pail clutched in her little fist
And I blinked back tears and shut the door
With her inside

And four hours later
Nearly frantic
I came back for her at last
And she cried . . .
Because she wanted to stay


©Edwina Peterson Cross