out for dinner
celebrate your thirty-third birthday three weeks after the birth of our son – a pulsing, :flooding gush of blood
a crowning head from your body torn open
by his entry into our lives
you are more beautiful to me than ever
nursing breasts swollen with milk nipples still sore, from suckling the baby
belly shrinking, distended with stretch marks,
red stencils of her passage into motherhood
I wonder if you notice
how much you have changed since this conception.
months of wondering if this baby might survive
unlike our first.
Anxiety combines with nausea bloating, cramps
intermingled bleeding
rub vitamin E oils over distended bellyskin massage your lower back
your mind – some other place
parenting classes, breathing exercises
sit with pillows on the floor, mark moments on our watches count the time between contractions
what to do when the water breaks
a packed bag – toothbrush change of clothing hospital stuff
then the day of the birth race home from work
find you already gone by taxi your bag still in the closet
all our lessons together already abandoned with your frilly gown
and brand new toothbrush
arrive at the hospital after a sixty mile an hour drive across the city beginnings of rush hour.
I am terrified
I am going to miss being with you
to share in the birth of our child
when I arrive you complain
I’m never around when you need me but before you land any real blows you clench back a howl
from the pain of a contraction .
I hold your hand while your eyes glaze over momentarily
before you return from your journey into pain to look up at me
from your seat in the shower in the maternity ward
the rest of the long night blur of nurses and midwives, friends come by to see you
some stay through the birth
others leave at the first real signs of birth – the final minutes
unable to face
the overpower physical reality of it
during the breathing counts your eyes are locked onto mine
it feels like our souls are glued to each other by going through this passage together
it is the only way we can face this pain
is if you can concentrate your focus on my eyes, counting
panting together
a counterpoint to intercourse a body passion to expel
what we have inspired in your womb
in the final moments
fully dilated, ready to push flushed, fearful, pressed angry, hopeful
you are enraged when a nurse
scratches your thigh with a protruding fingernail
swear like a trucker
during the final push when the baby’s head passes out of your body
the rest of his little torso
is expelled from you like sausage from a meatmaker
part of me is repulsed
by the whole damn thing, but I am also
drawn in
by its sheer immensity
afterward
in the visitors room the relatives
noisily visit mama and baby
I finally go home
too exhausted to notice when I say goodnight
and kiss you on the cheek
you barely nod in my direction our son sucks
on breasts newly sprung triggered by the baby’s need.
out for dinner
three weeks after the birth of the baby you sit back in your chair
suckling the baby
even more of a stranger to me now than before our first embrace
Great and well done!
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Beautiful
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