The Womb

Your heart beat. Your lungs pulsed, full of goo, but never air.

And little flashes of who you would become

Your greatness in little sparks and tingles

Collided with your expanding cells, and one by one, you were formed.

Safely tucked in the folds of her abdomen, put there by him.

No matter the circumstances, you were not an accident.

You were on purpose

You were by purpose.

You were for purpose.

You are purpose.

Months of amniotic wonder

Weeks of gestating awe

Flew by, as you graduated from spec to special.

Nah -- you were special the whole time.

And then, a pain, a push, a pull, a cry in the night (or the afternoon - i can never remember)

And cool air and milk and soft towels and bright lights and gentle touches and tears and now you are here.

Out of womb.

In the air.

In the world.

In the light.