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02-11-2013, 12:54 AM
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"Our own little foal," he echoes, and warmth trickles through me from head to hoof. I am so happy that he is as excited about this as I am, that he does not regret our admittedly poorly-thought-out actions. I am so happy that he keeps his muzzle pressed to my side, that he feels a third tiny kick, the smallest flutter, but so clearly discernable. It is a wonder, and I feel as though I could be pregnant forever; but alas, time has flown, and I know that I grow ever closer to the day when the child will be born, vacating my womb despite my wishes to keep it there, safe and sound within me. Children are rebels, it is said, and it would seem that their birth may well be their first act of rebellion. But then, it is only nature taking its course. My mind turns to my mother. Would all of this been easier, more exciting if I had someone who knew about children and childbirth to share it with? Or would it have taken away from the experience? I had been surprised, overjoyed by that first little flutter of a kick. It had scared me, yes, but when I realized what it was, I was elated. Would I have felt that way had I expected it? Did Mother have anyone to tell her what childbearing was like? Or had she had to do it alone, too? Had Father ever pressed his maw to her rounded belly, laughed as the foal within greeted him? They will never see their grandchildren, I realize, and the thought makes me sad. "Did I... ever tell you why I want a family?" I ask hesitantly, though I am loathe to ruin the mood. When we first met, he had blessed me with his past, but I have yet to return the favor. Something tells me that now is the time to do so. |
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"Talk talk talk." |
| Sohalia Don't wanna leave this life knowing I barely tried... |
