It was unexpected but not unwelcome. Here is a poem I quickly wrote after the news.

All I can think of is an apple seed,
perhaps a pumpkin seed, but more plump.
And a cord, a fragile link between us
that can be broken at any moment
for so many unknown reasons
and I’m hopeful that it is a strong cord,
wishing it could be thick,
as thick as twenty popsicle sticks
that can’t break because they are together.

Last time I thought of you, well
really it wasn’t you, but another seedling,
another hope, there was too much
excitement, too fast. That other
you, that wasn’t really you,
wasn’t meant to be. Maybe
you’ll understand then why
I can’t seem to let my thoughts be
of fireworks and puppy dog tails
and cotton candy and butterflies.

It is because I desire, no ache for you,
the little lima bean growing into
an acorn, into a potato, my oblong
little joy. And to not have you when
the want is so much that I am like the earth,
dried and cracked, wishing for rain
during the drought. Or maybe not exactly.
Maybe you are the rain just after
the drought, refreshing and bringing hope
to the desperate earth who fears
losing you to another dry spell.

And for those who still have no idea what the news could be. I’m pregnant.