Moment of sappiness - attempts at poetry

All right, I have moments where not everything is a barrel of monkeys. Not everything in life can be hilarious...sigh. (although after watching Ellen today I wonder if maybe all things in life CAN be laughed at - like blindfolded musical chairs - 'youtube' it, funny funny stuff)

I digress. Last year in Education we had an assignment to write a poem of sorts, based on an a previously written poem, titled 'I am From...' Then we had to do the unthinkable and stand in front of our new classmates and bare our souls with said poems. Mortifying stuff.

Now I'm going to do it again. Slightly easier this time, what with not having to actually look at whoever reads this. At least not WHILE they read it. Try not to tease me tooooo much when you see me again.

So first, please read the 'I am from' poem that I wrote last year for my class, before I had my darling little monkey. Then, read the second version, all about my little babykins. Enjoy. (hopefully, and lie to me if you don't!)

I am from....

I am from powdered milk and pancakes, which arrived in a cardboard box on our door-step once a year at Christmas time.
(the taste ever-lasting,
never quite fading,
always making me gag)

I am from apartment after apartment, basement level to ninth story with a balcony, where I rode my first bike.
(trains passing, apartment swaying, dishing rattling)
I am from being seen and not heard, escaping into a British closest where magic prevailed and lions roared.
(squeezing my eyes shut and praying for reality to trade places with fantasy)

I am from the 70’s where the Dancing Queen reigned, and Knowing Me and Knowing You was easy.
(not quite understanding but singing with my Mom anyway)

I am from cousins instead of siblings, numbering over thirty by the time I drew my first breath.
I am from Truth or Dare, always being a daredevil though cowering inside.
(pretending that, yes, mud did taste like chocolate, and, yes, I would like to be paddy-whacked again…)

I am from the Romper Room, but not really because my name was never found in the mirror.
(always waiting to hear my name after the “Jennifers,” “Amandas,” and “Christines”)

I am from ice-cream with the coloured gumball at the bottom of the plastic cone, eaten with a clumsy wooden spoon.
(sticky hands smeared on my red cords, which Mom said didn’t match my pink t-shirt. Why not?)

I am from a place where I am still trying to understand where it is that I really came from.




I am from…

I am from a stick that I oh so gracefully peed on, which lit up ‘positive’ly blue – a baby due in May
(I said ‘Oh my,’ my husband said ‘oh no’)

I am from months of waiting, appointment after appointment, where I first heard your heart beating out a steady rapturous rhythm
(anticipation mounting, are you healthy?)
I am from seeing your little body for the ‘first time’, all bones, lit up on the ultrasound screen
(you had my heart in your tiny hands from this moment on)

I am from little feet kicking me in the ribs and the bladder, letting me know you are there and are getting bigger everyday
(as was I, waddling everywhere I went, running out of breath at every set of stairs I had the misfortune of coming across)

I am from sharp pains that began, intensely, at 4:06 in the morning and ended exactly fourteen-and-a-half hours later
(birthing class lied, I could not make the pain go away by ‘seeing, hearing, feeling, breathing’; nor did I find the ‘pain-fairy’ very charming – damn witch blocked the epidural…)

I am from feeling you come into this world and being stunned into silence by your presence, your beauty, everything YOU.
(I thought I would cry, but was too overwhelmed and relieved that you were alive and kicking)

I am from holding you and nursing you before you were even thirty minutes old and feeling like life would never be more complete than right at that moment
(who knew that this feeling would continue on a daily basis)

I am from a place where I have finally understood why I am here.
(I am your mother, and always will be)