See here, on my tummy, a trace of silver; a knitted stretchmark.
She told Mrs. Warren at Milkwood Pre-primary the story when she was three:
“Mommy knitted me. She used love-wool for the knitting. When she was finished knitting, she brought me to a midwife and the midwife made me born. Daddy took scissors and cut the wool where the midwife made a knot and they put me in the Mickey Mouse blanket and gave me to my sister.”
There is a wrinkle, deep, between my eyes. Here, feel it.
A curious child, bold. I have worry lines, how will I protect her from getting hurt? But – oh! – what joy to watch her discovering things; absorbing new information.
“What’s in de cubbid Mommy?”
Underneath the silence of the house only my ear hears it, even breathing. Now it changes, slightly, she’s dreaming: on her bike, riding fast over the grass in the park. Patterns of willow through the sunlight, the Egyptian geese laugh as she speeds past.
“Look Mom; no hands!”
Here, next to me is a pile of pink clothes. Girls’ size 8 – 9 years. Must remember to give to the charity shop.
Good Lord! She changes with each day; last term she was – in puzzlingly quick succession – a tomboy, a Goth, a Hannah Montana fan …
“Mom, can I get some skinny jeans tomorrow?”
Look at this blister on my hand, here; I burned it this morning. I emptied egg shells so that we could spend the day decorating them together, for Easter. I didn’t want to waste the eggs …
Every experience is different, more acute, when I share it with her. She is my greatest joy, my biggest fears are for her safety, and my most fierce hopes are for her happiness.
“Oh goody Mom! Strangled eggs for breakfast.”
It’s a private joke between us and I laugh. Every time.
There she is; my pride, my joy; the very beat of my heart …
This is a repost of an old journal entry. I felt it fitted with Side View’s weekend theme. For more entries on the theme, please go to: