Laundry and lunch with my boy
At the epicenter of a woman’s power,
You’ve risen from the ashes of your pain,
Making provisions for some groundbreaking nurture,
Imparting the much needed deliberateness and patience,
Peaceful in your offerings to your offspring,
I implore you to revel in your creation and embrace the seemingly
trivial moments with him just the same.
Smell the top of his head,
Touch the soft spot behind his neck,
Commit his doe eyes to memory.
“He is only four months old. Crying is the only way they communicate with us. We shouldn’t reprimand them for that.”
“We don’t accept a ‘good boy/bad boy’ lingo. There are only good or bad actions.”
“I hear you, and I’m here for you.”
Relish looking at their feet mounds,
Cradle them to sleep, only to be woken up with a brilliant smile,
Let them whine in your arms and be sloppy all over your cheeks.
“We are learning, yes I know it’s hard, we have no hand-to-eye coordination yet, it’s alright, we are learning.”
“Okay relax, relax.”
“Are you ready to scream again?”
It may seem like invisible work to all,
While the scar gawks at you from your womb in awe,
Knowing that this is a narrative you can lead,
A story to behold while watering your seed.
“Yes, you can cry about it.”
“You are not able to figure it out, it’s fine. We will get there soon.”
“Great job at holding the toy on your own!”
All the values and core beliefs that are conducive to a positive upbringing,
You try avoiding replicating your own which was laden with a hint of obsoleteness.
Exhale the worry, inhale the fighting spirit,
When your instincts lead you to read his mind continually,
Speak to yourself as you would speak to a queen.
As he screams in his shrillest voice, the parity in you says, “Yes, my darling, take a moment.”
“What do we say when we are frustrated?”
“I love you!”
“I am the one who decided to have a baby. He did not opt to have a mother, which is why I choose to dedicate my time to him without feeling like I am being made to give up on my own life.”