My unborn baby

[pomes]

You have not yet started growing, and already I'm afraid
That when you are new-born, the decisions I have made
Will mean that I can't hold you, or that you're born too soon,
Or that, if ever you're conceived, you'll be hurt in the womb.

I fear the day you're born, my child, and the day I bring you home.
I fear the day I have to care for you all on my own.
I fear the pain of surgery, and that feeding will be sore
And I fear that you won't be quite done, that you'll need a little more.

I know already that you'll come in not quite the best way
And I know that's best for you and me, it's what all the experts say.
It seems unfair - it's not your fault - you never asked for this.
But I want you so, I selfishly intend to take the risk.

I can't explain it. I don't want to. It's not a logic thing.
It's made of things like butterflies and why the oceans sing.
It's a feeling down inside my skin where I keep the feel of rain
And I love you now so much that I could do it all again.