Oh, Baby

You haunt me, constantly twisting my dreams into nightmares, and nerve-racking my mind at the sight of pampers. Approaching forty, mother of none: why couldn’t I give birth to more than a hope? Happily single, despite what you say, without dealing with a kid who’ll only grow to hate me, the crumb-snatcher taking from my plans and pay, but.... I’m so damn lonely and you know it. You, you with your what-ifs and would’ve-could’ve-should’ves, not allowing me to soundly sleep, making me carry that weight, with a life as empty as my womb, tormented by immoral choices that stopped your possibilities. I can only now say: “Mommy’s sorry.”