Motherhood isn't creation
I didn't choose your nose, hair, or
wild disposition
I didn't select what would make you cry
or the colours you'd be drawn to
I didn't put the sparkle in
your eyes, or the bells in your laugh
I may have mixed the ingredients
but I didn't write the recipe.
No, motherhood is not creation
It's the tending of a garden
Knees in the rocky mud
sweat dripping into eyes under the
hot but life-giving sun
a sprinkling of water
the endless picking of weeds
guarding against hungry beasts
joy as the First sprouts appear.
There is no creation in motherhood,
no ownership
only stewardship
and a quiet but profound Faith
that if cared for
the child will bloom.
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