Once upon a time (actually, ten years ago today) I screamed and swore my way through 24 hours of excruciating labour before a disturbingly cheerful surgeon sliced open my stomach at 3am and pulled out a tiny wailing creature who would prevent me from sleeping/weeing on my own/having any peace/existing as an autonomous adult for the next few months/years, and who would alter the course of my life forever.
It sounds like the start of a horror story. It is, in fact, the start of the most wonderful love story ever written.
Miss Ten, you are everything. I wrote a poem for you. Happy, happy birthday.
What did I do
What did my arms do before they held you
My mouth before it kissed you
My eyes before they saw you
My heart before rejoicing your voice
With every beat?
My precious daughter, as surely as your face is my haven
One day I will leave
But you will remain
To rejoice in your own child’s grace
Turning your face to the light always
Know that wherever you go
When your fierce soul-beauty is the key that opens doors to joy
When those doors close and you must forge another path
(do not follow; forge)
When that path is cruel and broken and you are heartsick
When you cry out for me in the deep dark
I will go
I have always gone
I will always go