Do tell me how your water broke
In the midst of a business meeting;
How you almost gave birth in a Buick,
Thanks to icy roads and sleeting.
Oh yes, my dear, I’d love to hear
How many weeks you were dilated;
How people pestered you day after day,
While you waited…and waited…and waited.
I’ll eagerly listen to your description
Of delivery doctors and nurses;
And of the ones for whom you saved
Your most foul and creative curses.
Don’t fail to tell me each detail
Of the pain and the shot that you feared;
How your brave and beloved partner
Fainted just as the needle neared.
I’ll gladly savor your tale of labor,
How you painfully pushed for two hours,
How your grasp left marks on your midwife’s arm
Through your show of womanly power.
Yes, tell me your story, no matter how gory;
Spare me nothing, and take your time.
I’m happy to hear your tale of glory,
But first…you gotta hear mine!
©2009 Carlotta Eike Stankiewicz