Your clock turns my times into believable spells of intuition. The way your time collapses onto my shoulder every few months doesn’t confuse me anymore. Your hands are moved by love, your seconds spew bullets of man made hope and the days you long for are the ones that would tick to the beat of my belly. But oh great one; the forever of your time can’t be connected with mine because your fear of our past is the Wall of Prevention.
I have shown my three year old son this morning, pictures of my pregnant belly. The following are some of his comments/questions.
“Who put me there?”
“How’d I get out?”
” I comed out?”
“What size am I now?” ( I have pictures each week of what size of fruit he was. )
“I want to go back in”, as he proceeds to push his head into my stomach.
Well I have to post it.
Every year I likely will.
It’s not something you just forget.
Four years ago today, I found out
I was going to be a Mama.
I still have the candle holder I peed in when I found out.
I made it back into a candle. Not with my pee.
But wax. And
not from my ears.
I don’t ever light it though.
It sits on my dresser and when I look at it,
it reminds me how crazy it is,
that pee can tell you
that you’re carrying an eventual living human bean person in your belly.