as you turn twelve,
so does my motherhood.
from those first blood-curdling moments
of after-medicine screams
from the hospital bed,
those years at home in my arms,
first sleeping so much
that i had to tap you awake to nurse,
then climbing up stairs
and on top of chairs
before your legs would let you walk,
to the burgeoning of
older sister status,
that wild child sprouting up into the world,
audaciously declaring
that the sun only spun for your circle,
to the school-aged, readaholic
lover-of-all-things-fantasy
girl of mine…
i carried you
inside my belly,
in my arms,
behind my bike,
in a backpack,
pushing a stroller,
to Spain and back,
all the time holding on
to small fingers
that have delicately developed
into a young lady’s hands,
hands i can’t quite let go of
as you turn twelve,
my motherhood turns twelve.
i can never go back
to living for myself,
to late night movies
and sleeping in on Saturdays,
to planning for a future
that would involve anything less
than thinking of what that
future will be for you
this can only happen once.
you being born the oldest.
me becoming a mother for the first time.
how lucky we are,
to share this birthday every year.
as you turn twelve,
i turn twelve years a mother.
on our birthday,
let us remember
our best gift of all:
each other.
