Tummy Time (A Poem)

In the hospital after having my second child,
When my first daughter came to visit,
She kissed the new baby.
Then, she rubbed my tummy and asked,
‘Mommy, when is the other baby coming out?’

I had to explain that though my tummy looked like it could still have a baby inside
It had been a house, for the baby.
Now the baby was outside
And my tummy, the house, would get smaller,
But it would take a bit of time for the house to know
That there was no longer a baby inside.
It’s been 7 months, the house knows it has been abandoned.

Today, while playing with my daughter
She looks at my stomach and says,
‘Mommy, You have a big tummy.’
I am temporarily paralysed
I don’t quite recall when I fell out of favour with my chubby tummy
but it was some time in the 1980s.
Now, years later, in a time when I am primarily wearing elastic pants
My 3-year-old daughter effortlessly launches
What appears to be a live grenade.

My daughter does not know that models
And beauty are manufactured,
Usually with insecurities, disenchantment, and discontent.
Without missing a beat she says,
‘Mommy, your tummy is soft.’
She is correct. My stomach will never be voted, ‘best stomach,’
unlikely to be envied by the women in the change room or around the swimming pool.

She reaches out to touch and kiss my stomach
For a moment my insecurities run like cowards,
Leaving gratitude and confidence.
My daughter is right when she sees love,
When she sees health, when she sees comfort.
She says, ‘Mommy, your tummy had two babies,
I love your tummy’
And for the first time in as long as I can remember,
I love my tummy too.