hold my hand
It began to sink in, in drips, chilling my spine with a gentle covering of goosebumps.
I was a mum.
I rolled each syllable around in my mouth in slow motion, tasting its sound.
The fog was slowly parting, the tell tail signs of storm still ever present, the smell of wet grass still thick in the air.
Yet a calmness emanated,
A babe nestled to its mothers breast. Finally.
The common place, became the exceptional,
A bath was so much more than bathing,
An opening eye,
It was progress.
It was life.
I had changed, that much was certain.
Eyes so wide they burn, teeth clench, a weight sat with me though I had no strength to accommodate.
A sunken greying face staring back through the harsh truth of reflection.
Diverting my gaze, I was hurt.
I was robbed of congratulatory hampers and balloons in blue,
Of laughter at labour in retrospect, of gushing, of the warm and fuzzy, of self satisfaction, of pride.
It could not be manufactured.
I had been to battle, crawled through the trenches,
Coming out the other side,
Riddled with scars.
Shell shock abated when I touched the soft pink cheeks of newborn lush,
I have you, my boy, to show for my wounds, sharing our warmth, we will keep trekking.
No longer I but a we.
Unbeknownst to me the best version of myself was also newborn, fragile,
Our secret world lay waiting,
If you hold my hand, I promise I’ll always hold yours.
And I will be eternally grateful.