The pitter patter of fingers and toes
internal raindrops
naturally quicken
into a newborn downpour
of random words.
Timid typist,
I am sure you are writing
sonnets
and novellas
on the walls
of my womb,
and I am jealous
of my own
reproductiveness,
and your invisible,
indelible ink.
As it is Mother’s Day weekend, I felt inclined to post a series of poems about motherhood. This one I wrote in my third trimester of pregnancy with my daughter.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
Nicely done once again! This is beautifully written and I can imagine that you passed your writing talents on to your children.
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I truly hope so.
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Wonderful! ☺️
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Thank you, John.
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/the thing I remember most about the third trimester was all the peeing. And that was just me!
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Sympapee!
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Gorgeous! 💕
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Thank you 😉
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Just lovely!
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Thank you. 😀
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lovely images — love ‘the timid typist’ metaphor 🙂
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Thanks, John. Didn’t have much bandwidth at that point in life, and I was comforted to think my baby was enjoying creative sparks.
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Beautiful stuff K. I just love this. Expectant mums generally complain about their babies kicking, but the thought of them lying there being creative, is simply awesome, and of course, it is very well written, as always.😊
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Thank you, Hobbo. It was a joyful time for me, being an incubator was mentally draining, though. Glad I’m firing on half cylinders now 😉
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