Small new poem

and I just know we can all relate to this one

I thought I would share the scribble with you here first.

I had to go in for a blood test the other day, and I absolutely hate needles (never mind birthing three children), but it turns out I wasn’t thinking about myself at all. I used to take someone in with me because I hated them so much. Yet after having children that stopped, I now go in alone for myself, and take my husband in with me for them.

Inspiration from the hallway, in the chair where I sat.

Outside the nurse’s room

I sit waiting nervously.

Not because of my blood test,

but because I can hear a baby cry

and the sound of a mother holding her breath.

I can hear my own baby crying, how it shakes and goes silent,

I can remember when she had RSV - when the needle was too big

and her hand too small.

When they had to try again and I thought I might faint

from being so sorry.

I remember the sharp sting of the pin prick

in her heel, right after I birthed her.

I never wore my own pain like a second skin,

it never rushed at me with such urgency

and yet here I am, holding my breath

for someone else’s baby

as I sit outside the nurses room.