Before I Was Ready poem about being induced early

They said it was time.

But I wasn’t ready.

Not yet.

Not like this.

I had counted the weeks

like stepping stones—

dreamed of making it to the end,

of crossing that finish line

with swollen feet

and a full heart.

I wanted the last kicks.

The last stretch.

The waiting.

The wondering.

The story where my body decides

when it’s time.

But instead—

monitors.

Numbers.

The word induction

said with calm voices

while my own heart raced.

I nodded,

signed the forms,

swallowed the fear

and did what I had to do.

But later—

when the room was quiet

and the baby was here

and the world said,

“You should be happy”—

I grieved.

Not because he wasn’t perfect.

He was.

Not because I wasn’t grateful.

I was.

But because it wasn’t what I pictured.

Because I didn’t get the ending I’d written

in my head

a hundred times.

I missed the last stretch of the journey.

I missed feeling ready.

I missed that final swell of waiting

that so many others seem to get.

And that’s the part no one tells you:

That even when everything is “fine,”

even when your baby is safe—

you can still mourn what didn’t happen.

You can still feel robbed

of those last few days,

that last belly photo,

that last night of still being one.

And it doesn’t make you selfish.

It makes you human.

Because love doesn’t cancel grief.

And grief doesn’t cancel love.

I can hold him close

and still miss what we skipped.

I can celebrate his breath

and still ache for what mine didn’t finish.

So no,

I didn’t get to go full term.

But I went full heart.

And that counts for something.

Everything, maybe.

Even if it came

before I was ready.