So many years ago
As you nestled contentedly beneath my ribs
I'm sure I wondered
Many times
Who you were.
I envisioned your hair,
Your eyes
Your smile
As I caught my breath and hoped I could safely deliver you.
I knew I'd love your soft
Dimpled elbows
Your sweet feet
And your velvety crown --
That part would be easy.
I troubled myself instead about the
Day you'd work to leave your cramped coach
And make your way into our arms.
Once you got here, I knew
Naively
You'd be fine.
But once you breathed
Your first breath
I knew better --
It was clear I'd find more to worry about.
Something the first day,
Resolved,
Eclipsed on day two
With a new concern,
As I barely remembered:
Oh yes! Yesterday I fretted about that other thing --
That thing that worked out fine.
Always.
Something new.
A bump
A fever
Sleeping too long
Sleeping too little
Not enough wet diapers
Not eating,
Not stopping eating,
Not burping,
Burping but losing a meal at the same time.
Always, always something.
Oh.
How I loved you.
Oh.
How I hovered.
Prayed for you
Sang to you
Rocked you close
Breathed you in
To the deepest parts of me,
Every stroke on your sleeping back
A promise to protect you
Defend you
Carry you in my heart
Every day of my life.
For not only is a child born --
So is a mother.
And as her child cannot then be unborn
Neither can she.
Transfixed, transformed
For good.
You grew.
I blinked, then rubbed my eyes
To find the cradle put away
The crib folded up
The little step stool gone from its place before the bathroom sink.
The clothes grew smaller faster than I could pluck them from your dresser drawers,
And one day your presence in the house was reduced
To a few straggling boxes of books,
A lot of photographs,
And some height marks penciled messily on the hallway wall.
You still come home.
You're tall and strong
And you don't need me to help you brush your teeth
Or do much of anything
Anymore.
That baby,
So eagerly awaited,
Crawled
Toddled
Ran
Onto bigger things.
But the mother
Is still here.
You've adapted, I'm afraid,
A lot better than I have.
My arms still reach to catch you
In case you fall.
My words still escape my lips,
Often before my mind can decide if they should,
To protect you
My child who has outgrown me.
Somewhere there is a place for me.
I suppose I should have found it by now.
But it looks like it will take more stumbling,
More missteps,
Before I do.
If you can take the good
Listen to the advice-from-one-who's-been-there
That I might sometimes
(Okay, almost always)
Share
Perhaps without proper restraint --
If you can sift from my words
The love and a few grains (I hope)
Of wisdom
And let the rest go
Forgivingly,
I would be sincerely grateful.
Because
Quite honestly
I don't think I'll ever
Ever
Ever
Figure out how
To outgrow
This mother thing.
