Decades ago my body said “no”.
Doctors confirmed it,
No life would grow here.

I thought I deserved it.
The places I’d been, the things I’d seen,
who was I to ever raise a child of integrity?

Accepted and marked each year at Mother’s Day,
nope, no child here, never will be.

A career to balance and pets to love,
a man who knew his title alone
would never be more than husband.

Years gone by, a barren land, scenarios played out in my thoughts
of how different life could have been.
Did I freeze my heart? Shut off the valve?
Turn my womanhood into a desert land deprived of a love that I would never know?
Was it me? My actions? A blessing? A curse?
What kind of world is this to bring a kid into?
Better off never knowing, or a lifetime of unfulfilled desire?
How does one know if they want a child when they’ve been told
it could never happen?
The choice taken away, the option defiled.

But what do doctors know when miracles happen,
their statistics and tests put to rest.
A life growing inside of me in a land I was told would remain empty.

How do I process an impossibility?

All those years of imagined possibilities now coming to pass,
each day I look down and see the effects
of a calling too deep for me to fully grasp.

Protect you. Keep you safe. In my womb, a barren land no more.
You moved in, found me worthy, a gift of love well into my thirties.

The doctors say I’m too old, be careful now and don’t expect to carry to term.

They didn’t see the dream I had, years ago, tucked away in the painful parts of my memory.
In this dream, I gave birth, you were perfect.
Grow little one, grow, don’t listen to what they say, this is our fight of faith, our victory day.
Almost time, are we ready?

Defied all odds, healthy as can be.
I felt you grow, kick and turn,
heard your heart beat pump your blood,
watched your life on a black and white screen.

Who are you little one? Who will you become?
The doctors still think you may not make it, prepared for the worst in their minds only.

It’s time, it’s now, for you to make an appearance,
to enter this world, a place where you are much needed.
My body was forced into a tug of war,
I wasn’t ready, but they said you were.

The early morning turned to noon,
still no sign of you.
A little while longer and they told me to push,
over and over, the pain pulling me under.

A few hours on repeat, my threshold broken,
the doctor came in and said we were down to one option.
With my permission they would prep the OR,
take you from me behind a blue wall.

What choice did I have, I did all that I could,
did my body fail me and you?
Little one I can’t go on, I’ve sweated I’ve cried, I’ve tried and I’ve tried.
Let’s go, hurry now, statistics are trying to get back in the game.

Fifteen hours of labor, three hours of pushing and you still aren’t here,
the doctor’s expression covers his fear. What complications does he await?
They whisked us away down the hall as the tears welled up and over my tired eyes,
down my cheeks to the hospital sheets.

I can’t let fear grip me now, I’ve seen your face, your future, your now.
Your dad – my husband – a calm support through the entire ordeal,
his hand in mine, our hearts entwined.

The doors pushed open to the starkness beyond,
the cold in the air touching my skin, anticipation creeping in.
Not long now, they said it would go quick. I waited in silence, your dad’s hand still in mine,
waiting to hear your first victory cry.

I focused on the sterility of it all, held down to the table behind that blue wall.
I felt them pull and I felt them tug, am I less of a woman for going this route?

“He’s pink! He’s pink! ” is what the doctor shouted and then there it was, the cry of your lungs!
How sweet that sound, that filled a hole in my heart, your voice, your cry, my baby, my boy!
“Let momma see him!” is what I heard next.
They held you up, above that blue wall, your little squished face is where my focus was now. How perfect, how right, you were just like the dream,
a promise was made and a promise was kept.

I longed to hold you, to pull you in close, but that couldn’t happen, not just yet.

They finished the birth and cut the cord, weighed you and cleaned you and wrapped you up warm.
I lay crucified on the table as they stitched me up good, still not in the clear.
Could I hemorrhage, bleed out, before I even hold you near?

Shhh, don’t cry little one, I’m right here, I’m here.
Soon you’ll be in my arms, breathing the same air.

So long yet so fast, you entered this world, a lifetime beginning.
To recovery we went when finally they put,
you in my arms, my sweet little baby, at last, at last.

Who are you little one? Who will you become?
A plan for your future, a reverie come to fruition.

Misty Moon © 2018


3 thoughts on “Reverie

  1. Oh my! Misty, this is beautiful! I’m choked up and crying. There is so much I can relate to, and you brought it all back to me. (I was told I may never have a child, had to have an emergency C-section after labor pains for over twelve hours, and I did hemorrhage a week later nearly losing my life.) What a blessed gift you’ve been given. What a beautiful child! May God bless you as you continue to cherish him with your lovely, mother’s heart. Thank you for sharing your story and your faith!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I think that is the scariest part is that even after the fact, you still aren’t out of the woods. A month or so before he was born, God gave me a dream showing me something funny that happens when he’s about five years old. I didn’t understand why until it came time to deliver because it was that dream that I focused on and kept repeating to myself, “We live and we don’t die”. It was how I knew everything was going to be fine and he would be healthy. God actually gave me a dream 8 years or so prior of being pregnant and giving birth to a blonde haired boy and in the dream I heard His voice tell me his name and say “I sent him.” Another promise I focused on while in labor. God showed me I would become pregnant, that I would deliver a healthy blonde haired boy and then was gracious enough to show me five years into the future. He’s a good father 💜 Thank you for sharing part of your story.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Wow! That is wonderful, all the promises that God has given to you concerning your son. Yes, we have a good, good Father and you are truly blessed, my dear Sister! May He continue to bless you and your precious family.


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