On the Anniversary of Becoming a Mother

Who have you become
since becoming a mother,
since sharing your body,
your breasts with another soul 
so frustrating and perfect
you couldn't help but change?

You became 
an expert on linguistics
reading her cues 
knowing her needs,

An authority on jaundice
and heel pricks
and hiccups,

On not throwing yourself
off a cliff during the 
hours she screamed.

Adept at introducing new siblings, 
a master at breaking up fights.
No surprise you've become 
the Howard Dean of your home.

You're now a pundit on
the development of teeth,
the soundtrack to ZOMBIES
(and Descendants, duh).

You can speak confidently
at baby showers of 
spit up,

And you know damned well
that the time goes by
so. achingly. slow.
torturously taxing from one
runny nose to the next ear infection.

And sure the years are short.

You've mostly become 
an expert on asserting that
this shit is hard
in the hardest of ways
and it's okay, it's okay, it's okay
to feel it that way.

You're not who you were
nor who you'll become.

You're just a lady 
- a portal - 
through which
new life keeps pouring
and you've learned 
you know nothing
at all anyway.



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