When did she become apart from me? A Mother's ode.

She came from my being. 
Started as a seed, always there. Never apart. 
Her number was chosen, she won and thrived; 
My bread was her bread, my lungs, her air. 
She was me. There was no divide. 
My rhythm was her lullaby.
We became an alien, a two headed, strong willed force of nature. 


She came with a purpose, perfect from the start. 
She breathed her own oxygen and her blood pumped red.
I didn’t think twice when they cut her physical bond to me. It didn’t even bleed a tear.
We smiled. Why didn’t I mourn that more? 

She did not recognise herself, rather knew herself only in relation to me. 
Without my body, my scent, my sounds; she was lost. 
My milk sustained and nourished her. She grew fat on it. 
She was physically, completely a product of my body. 


I was her world. It came with responsibilities; 
some of which were terrifically, physically, emotionally challenging. 
Others that were utter gluttony in their delight. 
And all she wanted was me, we were so wrapped in each other, 
We may as well have been one and the same. And we were.

She took food from a spoon and I mourned a little loss, 
Gone was the monopoly I had on her creation.
She carried on the job of children; to grow and learn and become. 
Become a personality, an individual, an identity, a person. 


She found her voice, a beautiful husky utterance that I recognised as my own. 
We watched her stumble out her first steps and babble out her first words. 
Steps became skips and words became songs. 
She was blooming. And so was our love.

And all this time, she had been observing,
Drinking in language, gestures, concepts.
Lapping up information and gathering opinions.
Lots of them mine, but then, a word I do not say, or a gesture that is foreign.
There is a dart of panic. A loss of control. An extension of the cord


Now she is at school. Now the tables have turned.
I am here for food, for clothes, for transport, for sleep.
But there are many hours and many teachers and many friends, shaping my baby.
This walking, talking, running, jumping, skipping, thinking, writing, reading; baby of my body.

Then there are the moments before dawn, a little tip toe down the hall
There is a soft little voice and hand and she is curled in my body once again.
Later, she will make her breakfast, dress herself, and run with friends
But in this moment, rarer by the day, she has come home to rest.


She is beautiful and she is mine.
But when did she become apart from me?
I will never know. And I will not hold her back.
Though she may travel far and wide,
She is my baby of my body, and always she will be.