I would carry you again. Even if it meant I would still lose you.
I would bask in the presence of your small body growing within mine.
Every kick. Every discomfort. Every growing pain. Every day, week, month of sickness. I would do it all again.
If it all meant I could just carry you once more.
I would stop what I was doing to feel your hiccups. Your rolls. Your turns.
Take in the sleepless nights without complaint.
Caress my hands more along my expanding abdomen, to find your frame. Grin with delight at the glory of your tiny, growing body.
I would sit longer. Love you harder. Work to remember.
I would do it all again.
If it all meant I could carry you once more.
I would gain the weight with pride. Wear the varicose veins as a badge of honor. Not count down the weeks. And savor every moment we had together.
If I would have known that I would lose you, I would have made it all count.
I would relive the nightmare...
Withstand the heartache. Embrace the empty arms. Hunger for the everlasting pit in my stomach. Fall into the void in my heart. Not tire of weariness. Of the long days and endless nights. Surrender to the confusion and unspeakable pain.
I would run to the storm.
If it meant that I could just carry you once again.
In my body, if not to be in my arms, now forever in my heart.
For to be your mother has been a privilege. And to carry you such an honor. To grow you such a gift. And I would do it all again.
Just to carry you once more.