We only lived in Connecticut for one strange and magical year, but for half of it I was pregnant and half of it I was celebrating (and struggling with) motherhood of two babies. I was lucky to have found a tribe of other mothers there in a local homeschooling group, and they were inspiring and kind friends to have along that transition in the parenting journey.
They threw me a surprise mama blessing/shower to celebrate my upcoming birth, and everyone brought something handmade or found vintage/antique. It was so special. One of my friends, Carlie, put together the loveliest package of vintage treasures and included an original poem. I came across it this week and thought it would be perfect to share here. I've been at 3 births in the past 3 weeks, and have a couple other mamas in waiting, and this poem so beautifully captures that third trimester feeling.
Third Trimester Song
by Carleen Armstrong
I do the limbo all day, swaybacked, heels spread
Carrying my bowling ball with me wherever I go
Conversations are foggy, as I am
Distracted by tiny hands swirling by the
Small hidden face in my midsection
I am the crocodile in Peter Pan
Reappearing on stage left from time to time
Ticking along to the rhythm of someone else's hiccups
Foot-in-ribs? Carry on: conversation, laundry,
And a jab to the interior hip bone for bonus points?
I sit with you on my lap, bend over your round form
Doing headstands between my pelvic bones
Yesterday I stood up quickly and heard the
Splash of my inner pool, sploosh!
An auditory post-it-note..."Contains Liquids"
Sunday mornings I mirror gaze endlessly
By accident I have become the pumpkin coach
But I still expect to arrive at the 10am mass, in elegant garb,
I pray for Ready to arrive, with "clean house" in one hand,
And "peaceful birth vibes" on the other open arm
Last night I dreamed I was hugging someone:
A whole, warm encircling body, no vague collarbone tap-touch.
It was The Holy Ghost of Ready,
Wrapping me in comfort, reminding me of calm.
So, I guess this is the final hour, a hold my breath pause, before.
I will teeter on this brink and think of kissing tiny, round fingertips,
Seeing the face those hands swirl around and
Mouthing the right name into your peachy, curling ear.
Then Oh! I will take, only me, into the shower for a long and holy soak
Nobody in my skin but my own lungs...not even ticking a little bit.
Just reading this again brings me right back to that late June and early July, taking evening walks in the Summer sun, returning home to fireflies in the overgrown yard. Smiling at the odd contractions swelling up from time to time, but not enough to mean anything. Oh, that wonderful waiting time. I'd go right back to it if I could, to savor those last weeks. Even the last almost two past 40. Deep sighs of nostalgia.
Carlie blogs about life with her four boys and family at Twinkling Along.