One more sleep....
Hopefully a wee cherub is just waiting to blossom
Thursday, 30 October 2014
Wednesday, 29 October 2014
The right of baby passage
There is something about having a baby that fills us with incredibly powerful feelings of excitement, nerves, anxiety, love, abundance, rolling meadows and green lush sunflower fields, smells of fresh baked bread and the hope that our most beloved little people will be beautiful and never, ever, pick their noses - both in and out of public display.
This will be my partners and I third attempt. Off we will go to the doctor in the hope that my dominant egg has risen above all the others, has come to the party, has declared herself the all powerful, the all fertile and when Priapus unleashes his silver sparks and they merrily merge with my commanding nucleus: this will be the origins of a new generation and bring forth an inspired, state-of-the-art enfant terrible.
We long for this, we pray for this, we oogle gorgeous baby clothes in expensive shop windows, are drawn to spaces where cots and prams are on display and longingly look into our spare room cupboard, already looking jammed with hand me downs and the odd splurge of an online sale.
To kiss and to cuddle, to sing and to laugh and just to be, with a baby. This is what we want. We shall be dancing for rain and hollering to the heavens for the cherub, meant to be for us, to come thundering into our lives.
Let them pick their noses, if that is what it takes to get them here.
This will be my partners and I third attempt. Off we will go to the doctor in the hope that my dominant egg has risen above all the others, has come to the party, has declared herself the all powerful, the all fertile and when Priapus unleashes his silver sparks and they merrily merge with my commanding nucleus: this will be the origins of a new generation and bring forth an inspired, state-of-the-art enfant terrible.
We long for this, we pray for this, we oogle gorgeous baby clothes in expensive shop windows, are drawn to spaces where cots and prams are on display and longingly look into our spare room cupboard, already looking jammed with hand me downs and the odd splurge of an online sale.
To kiss and to cuddle, to sing and to laugh and just to be, with a baby. This is what we want. We shall be dancing for rain and hollering to the heavens for the cherub, meant to be for us, to come thundering into our lives.
Let them pick their noses, if that is what it takes to get them here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)