b3.

your feet press 
against my ribs,
you elbow the walls of 
my insides
even as i write,
your formed head
is lodged between my hips.
[how they moan and creak]
you move,
you hiccup,
you stretch,
and i am all too aware of you
at any given time.
you are so little,
only 3 pounds,
but there is no mistaking
your presence.
you will not be ignored.
you put your order in 
for [womb] service
asking for ridiculous things,
like doughnuts, 
asparagus,
and McDonald's french fries.
you want it,
you got it.
Dad serenades you through 
the wall of brown skin,
how it is stretched and scarred
from being a temporary home 
to two others before.
He can't wait to meet you.
your big brother thinks you are a girl,
and affectionately nicknamed you
Roseberry.
[don't worry, we won't let it stick.]
I know you are a gift,
and i am reminded with 
each swift kick
to the bladder
or as i curl up on my left side
cradling my swollen belly
that you are in there
growing, 
forming, 
breathing, 
living,
and i quietly smile to myself
and reach for the 
tums.