They say you fall in love with your child
the moment you first hold them,
the cord just cut, still covered in blood
and vernix. I held the strange being
just arrived from the womb and felt curious,
astonished, humble, nervous, but I didn’t feel love.
That didn’t come till later. Came from holding him
while he was screaming. Waking with him
when I wanted to sleep. Bouncing him
when I wanted to be still. Love grew as
my ideas of myself diminished. Love grew
as he came into himself. Love grew
as I learned to let go of what I’d been told
and to trust the emerging form.
Until I couldn’t imagine being without him.
Until I was the one being born.
Your poems enrich my days <3
friend, thank you for this note–I am so grateful you read them. Thanks for responding here, it makes my day.
Paraphrasing carolinemellor2014, [Thank you, carolinemeller2014, for your nugget.] “Your poems (and you, dear and beloved one) endrench my days.”
Right off the bat, let me address the quasi-elephant in the poem: “…to trust the emerging form.” Such a wonderful world and vision this metaphor, this revision (seeing again) offers us. Of course, my question arises: Whose emerging form is this—his, or yours? (You know the obvious answer.) But too, does not love have its form?
Again, I’m seeing the worst of times being essential for the best of times. Not always, of course—whew!–but too often enough for our cozy comfort levels.
Thank you for writing with clarity and precision.
Beautiful man, thank you for this, for joining me in the drenching … and allllllll the emerging forms. Yes, how love, too, is a form that continues to shift and change. And oh how the worst and the best are ever dancing together, as you say. xoxo
Listening to your podcast and now reading this, I think about my spiritual journey and realize “to trust the emerging form” is an excellent summation of the path. The whole enchilada. The Number 42. Our babies are such excellent teachers. So is everything else, really.
thanks, Laura … it’s just always so on–that trust, and that ever emergence. And oh, these babies, how they are still teaching me, teaching me, teaching me … and yes, as you say, everything else. I am so grateful for you, Laura, thanks for being on this path with me.
I love the last line of this poem, Rosemerry. I can so relate being the mother of three grown children. Yes, I was the one being born. Thank you for this post.
thank you, LuAnne … yes, it’s the power of the paradox, yet again … wishing you well
I love this poem and I agree with its premise. Deep maternal love tends to emerge the more we immerse ourselves in caring for our children. Feelings can be mixed straight after the labour itself because it’s usually such a demanding and exhausting experience. Relief and joy are often coupled with a fear of what happens next and are we up to it. But later on as we sit and rock, sing to and hold and feed, and whisper to our precious infants and attend to their needs, a lasting bond is created. And it definitely is the birthing of us as we grow into our maternal roles and note how much our offspring have to teach us at every stage of their development.
Oh and I am still learning, still learning. thank you for this response. It was a particularly vulnerable poem to share.
My little boy is 41 and I’m still learning – and loving him more.
oh friend, thanks for the news from the front lines … it’s quite a chapter we’re in right now