Labour

Labour

Labour

For nine months I had borne him in my womb.
Nine months of disillusionment and pain
Relieved only occasionally by the gentle kicking within me;
The gentle movement of the life I created within me
Nine months I waited for this day;
Nine months and the grotesque lump growing on me.
And Kit always making numerous sacrifices – of patience and love –
Nine dreary months of waiting for this day.

And now I was beginning to feel sharp pains in me –
And mama saying they are labour pains –
The pains which will be the spring of new life . . .
Would it be a boy, I thought with intensified wonder;
    – How proud his father would be,
    – Or would it be a girl –
Someone I could teach to be just like me
And spoil with pretty frocks
And sweetly scented flowers to adorn her head?

I looked up in Kit’s eyes
    – The eyes  that had seen me through
    – The eyes that had known my sadness and joy for nine months
And saw in them all the love and care
    – The pain which he felt for me  
And like the sun on a cold morning
Relieved me of all fright, all desolation.

I looked with warm contemplation
To the moment when his warm embrace would say
‘Our very own baby – the very essence of our love’
And tiny little hands would cling to my breast in hunger
Tiny mouth drawing warm milk from me
An innocent little face looking into my face.
With trust
Learning me, just as Kit did.

I felt him Kit
Captured by a foresight of summer days to come
The days when we – no longer just two –
Would walk in the dusk
Caressed by the warm breeze
And our child would learn to sing the birds to sleep
And dance the kan-kan with the fireflies.

And thus I was borne to the labour war
Whilst Kit waited
    – Waited again
    – Waited in warm anticipation
    – Waited for the awakening of a new beginning.