This poem, Waiting, is on one hand about labor, childbirth and delivery. But it is also a metaphor. Our son’s middle name is Kairos, which means “the appointed or supernatural time.” The time when heaven meets earth. Much of our waiting reflects this, as we wait for something deeper and longed for, even miraculous and supernatural. Waiting is always defined by a hope and expectancy in something not yet possible to understand. Technically, we might know what or who we wait for. But we don’t really, for even with dim glimpses of the future, we cannot know it until we reach it face-to-face.

But before that we go through the labor of waiting. Never in my life–with my other three kids–have a felt the pain of waiting so excruciatingly! And I had all of them at full-term or beyond, where as Kai was born at only at 35 weeks! But there was something more that I was waiting for, a promise, a hope a faith. Even now, I look at him, and my heart wonders. I do not yet fully know him or what the waiting and labor birthed.




But wishing to be

A stuffed chair in the corner

Beige and big

Indistinct, unobtrusive personality

Ready for the arrival time



Let me run

At the window I wait

The labor began long before it started

It’s pains were not tight and strong

They were languid and tidal

Filled with diagnosis and sorrow

Waiting feels like

Tomorrow never comes

The past forgotten

Future void of name

Positioned, pointed

There is room for nothing more

Prepped, strengthened

The lamp is on, ready and aware

Who owns a Rolex?

A plastic crimson fridge timer?

A stopwatch childrens app?

Time can’t predict this story

Sleep another hour

Close your eyes a second more

Don’t forget the growing

Takes more energy than you can store

The induction commences

Drugs weened; cervix ripened

Pitocin drips, drops, drips

Contractions bloom

Wailing and wanting

We scream for a way to numb

Heaving; breathing

Coping cannot suffice

Grab your coat, now

It’s time to flee

Rip out your IV; put on your hat

We’ll escape so merrily

Shaking it awakes, out of the corner

Lean limbs stretch

It’s upon us now, licking, drooling

Undeniable; transition is coming

The moment appointed

It is upon us; it’s now!

Pushing, tearing,

The new skin rips through the flower (old?)

A collective inhalation

The world a vacuum; absence of breath

Paused, all eyes watching

Then a cough and then the cry

Was the waiting worth it?

Was the labor more than enough?

In the sweat-drenched sleepless nights

Who is this we’ve waited for?

Other Posts in Lupus and Pregnancy Series

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