"Howling," "Halfway to Breath," & "All That Lasts"
Poetry about the womb's mystical cycle: life before my daughter, life while growing my daughter, and now life holding my daughter.
This time last year, I was pregnant and discovering that the tiny human I was growing inside of my womb was a girl. That tiny human now sits in my lap as I curate this post of poems that tells a cyclical story of life before, during, and after her birth.
In new motherhood, I’ve come to appreciate how everything cycles. The joys. The challenges. The developmental milestones. The memories. The sleeplessness. The routines. A beginning is an end, and vice versa. It all connects. Time is a circle.
I’ve been watching my daughter grow too big to fit on my chest. Three months ago, I wished her to be big enough to sit and smile. I hadn’t realized this wishing meant I would be forced to sacrifice one joy over the other. I’m trying so hard not to blink, but my eyes are tired and my body is covered in baby drool.
I can no longer afford to will milestones, to anticipate my daughter’s next great adventure, to rank which month is my newest favorite, to wonder what phase will flash before my eyes tomorrow as the day slips past me without recognition. I do not want to miss my daughter’s next last because I was too busy anticipating her next first.
My baby’s first six months are coming to an end. She has outgrown her newborn onesies, demanded bigger bottles, and now babbles more than me. Which means my baby’s next six months are beginning, and she is still an infant, and she is still so tiny, and still and still and still I beg time to do two contradicting things at once.
To poetry about it all, to reassembling, to 2025, and to learning to live in the present.
Just before I became pregnant with my daughter.
“Howling”
I am thinking about motherhood. About everyone who has told me not to have children. About everyone who has told me to have children. About everyone who has told me if I have children I must have more than one. That one is plenty. That three is the best number. That four is a full heart. I’m thinking about everyone who told me that motherhood will become my identity. That motherhood will inspire my creativity in ways I cannot imagine. That a child will stifle me. That a child will liberate me. That a child will fill a gap I didn’t know I had even though I already feel full right now. That I don’t know what it’s like to be tired until I am a mother. That mothers don’t know what tired is anymore. That I should stock up on sleep as if sleep can be stocked. I’m thinking about everyone who has told me pregnancy made them feel invincible. About everyone who has told me pregnancy was Hell on Earth. That my body would no longer be mine. That my body will be stronger than ever. That I should breastfeed. That I should not. That it does not matter. I do not know what will become of me if I become a mother. I do not know how I will feel when I am pregnant or how my priorities will change or if I will feel inspired or devastated or both. I do not know if I can become a mother. I do not know who is right about everything and who is wrong. All I know is that I am thinking about motherhood, and that if I become a mother, I hope I will be a good one.
At the halfway mark of being pregnant with my daughter.
“Halfway to Breath”
I have made blood inside of blood Bone inside of bone Air inside of water When you ask me what I have done These last few months I will say Two hearts wrote this poem Two brains placed these words Four legs kicked wildly into new spaces Four hands imprinted permanent lines 20 fingers tickled, fluttered, intertwined 20 toes grounded, rooted, sprouted Over 20 weeks have passed growing My tiny child inside one womb Two souls, millions of cells She becomes me and I become her Halfway to breath now We are and always will be One and the same
A few months after the birth of my daughter.
“All That Lasts”
Once in The Before I scribbled a small note about my lasts This is my last January without children, I wrote My last cold and dark winter Somber and solemn and solitary I thought I might miss the pillowy quiet but I left my lasts in fragments Inscribing nothing else I don't remember what else I thought I might miss What I wanted to preserve What lives I thought I was leaving behind I don't remember how my body used to feel Only that it changed My mind, now a blank space Here in The After I miss nothing Here in The After is all that lasts
Xo,
Violet Carol
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this post, you can “like” it or leave a comment to connect and to help more readers like you find my newsletter.
Mother Love Letters posts include personal essays, photoessays, and poems about matrescence and identity. I also share books recs (Mom’s Shelf) to highlight my recommended reads and collective discussion pieces (Mothers Assemble) to highlight the messy and magical shared experiences of pregnancy and motherhood that bring us all together.
Poems for newborn nights: “Midnight Feedings” & “Blink”
Essay on my positive c-section experience: No Revision for My Incision Decision
Essay on postpartum body image: Meeting Myself in the Mirror
All payments received from paid subscriptions are directed to my daughter’s 529 plan to help support her own passions and future education.
These words are BEAUTIFUL. Thank you for sharing them ❤️