In the quiet hush of expectant dreams,
A life bloomed within, or so it seems.
A silhouette adorned in hues of blue,
A canvas painted with the promise of you.
But as the days unfolded, a shadow drew near,
Whispers of doubt, an unwelcome fear.
The blues, a storm that clouded the light,
A tempest within, an internal fight.
Moonlit nights and a belly round,
Yet in my soul, a haunting sound.
A symphony of joy, a discordant strain,
The blues, an echo, a silent pain.
A lullaby unsung, a mother's heart wept,
As shadows danced while the world slept.
The weight of emotions, heavy and deep,
In the stillness of night, a mother's grief.
But with the dawn, a new chapter begun,
A tiny heartbeat beneath the morning sun.
In the cradle of despair, a seed of hope,
A chance to untangle pain's intricate rope.
Tiny fingers and eyes so bright,
A miracle born from the darkest night.
Yet, as joy blossomed, a specter remained,
Postnatal echoes, a melody stained.
In the quiet hours of feeding and tears,
A symphony played through the passing years.
The blues, a note in motherhood's song,
A journey where strength and vulnerability throng.
Sleepless nights and laughter's embrace,
A kaleidoscope of moments, love to trace.
In the rhythm of life, a lullaby found,
A melody of resilience, the heart unbound.
For in the ebb and flow of motherhood's tide,
I found strength in the lows and peaks so wide.
The blues, a verse in a ballad untold,
A story of transformation, a soul consoled.
So here's to the journey, the highs, the lows,
To the lullabies sung when the world slows.
In the tapestry of motherhood's art,
The blues, a chapter, but not the heart.