But, yes, we're still waiting and while I wait, I'll wear this vintage charmer which is likely just cut glass or at the very most glamorous, a cubic zirconium. Who knows. Its an elegant setting and it conveys the message which is the point. My real ring will just have to sit, tucked into a satin pocket, waiting like the rest of us.
Third Trimester Song
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'm still expected at the 10am mass, in elegant garb
I lie at night and wait for Ready, hoping for a peaceful click
I want 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 kind body, no vague collarbone tap touch
I have fantasies about kissing tiny, round fingertips,
Seeing the face those hands swirl around and
Mouthing the right name into that peachy, curling ear.
Then I will take, only me, into the shower for a long soak
Nobody in my skin but my own lungs...not even ticking a little bit.