Ten Month Mama

Babies come when they are ready.

I said, carving another pineapple.

Babies come when they are ready

I said, dousing my pillow in clary sage oil.

Babies come when they are ready

I said, as I walked the extra long way home.

Babies come when they are ready

I said, bouncing on my silver ball.

Babies come when they are ready

I said, adding extra chillies to the curry.

Babies come when they are ready

I said, fiddling with my nipples.

Babies come when they are ready

I said, pouring a large mug of raspberry leaf tea.

Babies come when they are ready

I said, to the reflexologist, and the chiropractor.

Babies come when they are ready

I said, as I turned down my induction

Babies come when they are ready

I said, to worried friends and family.

Babies come when they are ready

I said, to the horrified lady at the National Trust admissions desk.

Babies come when they are ready

I said, as the consultant told me I was dangerously pregnant.

Babies come when they are ready?

I said, looking to my husband for reassurance.

You came when you were ready,

I said, as I held my daughter in my arms.

You were worth the wait.