For two weeks, waiting.  Pacing.
Twitching with every ring,
the call home.

You are turning,
finding your way out.
The hospital.

Waiting.  Groans of pain. Impatience.
More striding across the room, nails bitten.
You arrive.

The midwife holds your unwrapped body, you are awake,
turning this way and that to see the world.
Our eyes meet.

You are in Mum’s arms.  Head turns.
You stare into my soul, flick the switch.
I am born.