Growing Pains

by Nick Sweet

Later, in bed at his place, we were just starting to get it on, when Winston pulled away and said, “I’d like to talk a bit first, if it’s all right with you.” I was really in love with Winston, and still at that stage where I would look at him from time to time and think, God, he’s mine, and marvel at my good fortune. His cheekbones were high and broad, and beautifully sculptured, and there was a calm intelligence, and pride, in those brown eyes of his that I just adored. Right now, though, he seemed distracted, preoccupied.


Published Tuesday, September 8, 2009.


A Poem for my Son on his Due Date

by Robin Silbergleid 


 A boy empties a white pail

into flames on my television

and my hand holds that place

it never left.  I watch and wonder

what happened to my son

when the doctor wrenched him

from my body too small


Published Tuesday, September 1, 2009

A Blue Room

by K. Perks

They line the shelves.

Tall, small, fat, and furry


Published Monday, August 24, 2009

An Interview on Breastfeeding and Wet Nursing with author Erica Eisdorfer

interview by Jessica Powers

The Nurser

 by Alison Mandaville

The tug was

like teeth.


Published August 5, 2009.

“Every Silver Lining”

by Cherri Randall

There is a new girl sitting in the circle, and Marcy takes some kind of perverse delight in seeing if she can scare them off or get them to cry on the first day.  The counselor never arrives earlier than fifteen minutes late, which means Marcy has ten minutes.  She could almost run off the veterans, so a rookie hardly stands a chance.  Marcy takes one glance at the new chick, which means she sees everything it would take a normal person several moments to absorb.  The new chick is some kind of walking advertisement for Gucci and Armani and smells like real Giorgio, not that imitation stuff in the yellow bottles from Wal-Mart.  The thing that will set Marcy off will be the new chick’s nails.  They are perfectly manicured and they’re real.  They aren’t thick enough to be acrylic.  Marcy is a nail biter.  Sometimes when everyone else is bawling or screaming the counselor will get this look on her face like she wants to tear her hair out.  Marcy is never part of the fray.  But once in a while she will be biting her nails, and sometimes it will be so bad she can’t get them to stop bleeding.

”Did you guys hear about the kid in South Carolina?”

One thing the group knows about Marcy is that resistance is futile.  They will be assimilated.  Nora looks at Marcy.  “What happened?”


Published on July 27, 2009.

“The Birth Mother”

by Kelsey Rae O’Callahan

When I held you, your face

red and your hair matted,

small curled up body slick

with the effort of being born;

you screwed up your face and cried,

softly, your voice quieter

than I had expected, your expectations

lower than I had hoped. You gave up….


Published on July 20, 2009.

“The Adopted Daughter At Last Comes Home”

by Chris Weygandt Alba

She arrives on a jet from Wichita.

She throws her baggage in a heap

and lights a cigarette. She waits.

More here…

Published Monday, July 13, 2009. 

“Four Questions and a Scar”

by Adrienne Ross

The scar is almost gone.  Softened, pink, once a crimson line atop my pubic hair, much of it has slipped under my skin. It was through this opening that a murky mass seen in sonogram tests was revealed as endometriosis.  I was 38, and believed myself healthy until a routine examination led weeks later to surgery.  What was cut away was the shreds of my left ovary and fallopian tube.  What remained was a desire to have a child that expanded into its own fullness as my chances of becoming a mother dissipated. More here…

Published Monday, July 6, 2009.

“Sterile Fields”

by Karen Carr

They had wheeled her in here hours ago-hours ago, when she had told them it was time. They had wheeled her into this green tiled room, pushed her into the cold metal stirrups, pushed her legs apart, pushed their fingers up into her, and decided that it was not time to stop that pushing. Now, in the same room, they stood above her, all wearing green tile-matching masks, muttering in voices that seemed to her like voices on a long distance phone line. They stood around her in a semicircle, her body underneath their eyes, laid out flat-sacrificial. She saw the man who she recognized by his glasses and the red, broken-blood-vesselled nose. He smiled through his mask and put his hand on her shoulder. 


Published on June 24th, 2009.

“What Happens in Grade 2”

by Jennifer Schalliol

Noah’s cousin
dies – pre-cousin –

More here…

Published June 8, 2009.

“Kissing Scars”

By AJ Pearson-VanderBroek

“Why do you insist on touching me there?”

“It’s only your scar.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”


More here…

Published Monday, May 25, 2009


a poem by Hanna Miller

Sheets warm and ragged.

Floated in a film,

hung on by a thread.

Lying in bed as sweat

 More here…

Published May 11, 2009

“Novelties,” “After the Birth,” “Cause,” and “Gratitude”

Poems by Jenn Blair



And that’s the way of it.

The farmer wouldn’t look his daughter in the face

and when she lay on the cold yellow tile

writhing in her own blood and pain

the thing formed and still

More here…

Published April 27, 2009


excerpt from a novel

by Susan Oloier

As I mill around the maternity section of Target, pushing the camel-colored pregnancy pants with the stretch bellies across the rack, I am oblivious to Life’s samurai surprises. At three months—twelve weeks in pregnancy lingo—my size 28 Levi’s are just beginning to tighten. But as an overzealous, first-time mom-to-be, I need to explore my clothing options.

More here…

Published April 13, 2009

The Pig Door

by Johnny Townsend

What the hell was this? Jeff stared at the phone in his hand. Had the Church found out what he’d done? Was he about to get in trouble? He’d been disfellowshipped once back 18 years ago for having sex with his girlfriend, which was one of the main reasons for getting away from Houston. And he’d been disfellowshipped here in Dallas a year later for having sex with his fiancee in this city before they married.

He’d tried to be good after their divorce and was really working hard to resist his new girlfriend until he could convince her to marry him, but it wasn’t easy. He certainly didn’t want to get in trouble now for donating sperm 20 years ago.

More here…

Published March 30, 2009

“First Trimester: Down Syndrome Test”

by Christine Redman Waldeyer

This is non-invasive

which should make me happy

but as I lay on the table


Published March 16, 2008

Fresh Eggs

by Gretchen Wright

“Now this is what is meant by the term ‘copious mucous’,” the gynecologist said reverently, peering at me over the peak of my draped knees. Why did they do that – drape my knees – when they would be probing the most intimate of my body cavities? To shield me from what, exactly? “Would you like to have a look?” he asked my husband. READ MORE….


by Wendy Marcus

When she’d opened  the front door that sunny spring afternoon, Lenni’s nurturing side trumped her nervousness. “Let me make you a cup of tea,” she’d said impulsively to the forensic psychologist, a moment of civility, a turning point even, in a pitched custody battle. READ MORE…

Published February 16, 2009.

“On First Reading the Introduction to Natural Birth by Toi Derricotte”

by Lenard D. Moore

I sat there like an owl

on that narrow Cranbrook bed

Read more…

Published Feb. 2, 2009.

Baby Boy & Baby Announcement

illustrations by Julia Bauknecht

View now…

Published February 2, 2009.

In Reflection

by Joy Mosenfelder

Why is it that rooms designed for waiting rarely seem well suited to the task? They are often defined by dark drab walls and populated by squat chairs the wrong height and width for any human form. In this room stunted tables hide their scars under offerings of last month’s issues of People Magazine, Good Housekeeping, or Time. The room is not so full as to intrude upon the solitude of each expectant patient. Even small clusters of two or three having entered together refrain from interacting once they have selected a seat.  READ MORE….

Published January 20, 2009

First Generation

by Genna Gardini

Where I am from we do not measure relation in corpuscles.

That is why I love you more than I know how to tell you

and I tell you all the time


Published January 19, 2009


Fiction by Christopher Woods

I couldn’t believe it. It had also been a year since we had last seen Willy. We go to the carnival every year, ride the Tilt ‘o Whirl and The Bullet, but mostly we like the midway shows. Some are gruesome, I admit, including the blue fetuses and cancerous organs, the exploded hearts and the shrunken heads. Everything floats in big bottles of formaldehyde. READ MORE

Published January 5, 2009

The Second Night

by Nancy Adams-Cogan

in silent darkness
hours before dawn I am
warmed by your tiny body

Published December 22, 2008


by Ann Angel

I watch my daughter and know she is nesting. Emily, my firstborn, too young to be a mother herself, moves so slowly now, burdened with the weight of this baby. I watch from the kitchen and see my daughter with skin that glows, her hair pulled back in a French braid. A woman too soon. ….READ MORE…

Published Dec. 8, 2008

New Stories

by China Martens

“If my strong, beautiful, resourceful, and clever sisters feel like some kind of failure because of this, then it must be addressed. Something in the natural birth movement, meant to empower us, is creating a mythology that can work to sabotage individual truths. …..READ MORE…..

Published November 24, 2008

No Birth Plan, Please

by Tania Pryputniewicz

There’ll be no birth plan, no lists of what scent of lotion to bring. No incense, nor hot sock of rice to heat, no rubber ball to sit upon, nor birth class to attend with paid instructors who must be clear you can’t possibly tell someone who’s never given birth what to expect…READ MORE

Published November 24, 2008


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