Nurture {a story of breasts}

Over the last 36 weeks, I have watched as my body has gone through its amazing journey of transformation. I have watched in awe as my belly has swollen to accommodate the growing child within it, watched as the vertical line which divides my belly into two equal halves has grown darker and darker, watched as the skin on my neck has developed tiny skin tags and finally, watched as my once non-existent breasts have grown into two mounds of impressive proportions.

However, once I got over the initial excitement of being able to sport a killer cleavage for the second time ever in my life (the first time being when I was pregnant with my daughter over four years ago) I began to view my breasts in quite a different light, a light tinged with a kind of quiet respect.

Here was a part of my body created not to attract nor to serve as mere pleasure domes to the opposite sex ( as the media oftentimes tends to portray them) rather this was a part of my body whose purpose was now, 30+ years on, being revealed.

I have watched you grow
With the coming of my child
Your purpose revealed

The true purpose of my breasts is housed within them – they are the vessels through which I will nurture my new baby, giving him or her rich, nutrient filled, truly organic milk which will be baby’s nourishment for the first six months of its life.

A suckling baby
Nurtured by its mothers breasts
Rests contentedly

Isn’t that just such an amazing thought?

It is to me.

Sleep

I smiled wearily when I read this week’s prompt for One Deep Breath. That’s because with five weeks left to go before I give birth ALL I want to do at the moment is just sleep! The nights are not the greatest because finding a comfortable horizontal position is near impossible. And on the occasions I do manage to settle down to a semi-good nights’ sleep, baby decides it’s time to ‘wake up’ and start doing the conga on the inside of its mama’s belly. But I grit my teeth and chomp down on my lip and try not to complain about it too much because soon it will be over. But, ah yes, BUT when this stage is over I will look back on it ruefully because at least now, I do squeeze in a few hours sleep at night but when baby arrives I probably won’t be squeezing in any at all!!!

Tossing and turning
Trying in vain to find you
You prove elusive

Blurry eyed I wake
Did I sleep at all I ask
Doesn’t feel like it

Good night! ZZzzzzzzz

Poetry of the Sea

There was noting we – my then boyfriend (now husband) and I – loved more than to get home from work on a Friday evening, pack our beach bags and head off to the jetty where we boarded a speed boat which took us across the sea to the small island of Tarkwa Bay where we would spend a wonderful and relaxing weekend at a friends beach house which had been kindly lent to us.

We’d be laden down with cooler bags full of fresh vegetables, French baguettes, limes, drinks and all sorts of yummy edibles. On arrival, about an hour later, we’d arrange with the island locals to bring us their catch of the day from which we had a choice of fish from snappers to red mullet to – my favourite – fresh prawns straight out of sea with their gills still puffing up as they drew their last breaths.

These would be salted and spiced up and thrown onto the BBQ for a simple meal of fish, bread, wine and fresh vegetables with just a squeeze of lime to finish it all off. It was a meal which left us well sated and pleasantly dozy.

We’d sit for hours on the veranda chatting and gazing out at the sea watching the waves with their florescent caps of foam crashing gently onto shore.

I close my eyes and
Listen to the lapping waves
Tell me their secrets

Sometimes we would walk down to the beach, often at midnight, just to hold hands and walk along the shore letting the warm sea water bathe our feet and squishing the warm white sand between our toes. Sometimes our feet would be bitten by the hundreds of tiny crabs which hid underneath the sand and we’d beat a hast retreat back up to the house.

Pure Heaven.