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I remember her birth 

like it was yesterday, 

yesterday, 

I lost my glasses, 

the anticipation, the friend who came 

for the birth, waited with me three weeks, 

held her briefly before departing, 

 

yesterday, 

I left the laundry out in the rain, 

the wide eyed wonder and delight  of her dad and I, 

as we dreamed,  planned and claimed knowledge 

of a parenting journey, 

yesterday, 

I went to the wrong restaurant to meet you, 

her first steps,  the gentle kiss she placed 

on the nose of the spring horse at her 

second Christmas, 

yesterday, 

my bicycle helmet rode in the basket as I peddled to the store

the pushing tears as she waited for the school bus, 

in the pink strawberry shortcake outfit she chose 

with pride, 

yesterday

I did not return that important phone call, 

her bicycle wheels racing down the road when 

she was told her dad and I were separating,  complete with 

her cry of but you promised, 

yesterday, 

I went to the store three times, 

the laughter and tears of sisters,  and friends,

 teenagers emptying the fridge, eating my baking, 

filling the house, 

yesterday, today, 

I celebrate the gift of mothering.

gkn September 2016