I made you.

I made you.
Of that I am fiercely proud.

The beautiful miraculousness
of you here,
growing, breathing, learning every moment,
is not lost on me.

Well, not on most days.

I am impatient to meet the woman you will become,
and hesitant to let a single day pass.

Someday, I’ll have to try to explain all the unexplainable,
unspeakable things about our world.

But not today.

I made you.

You are my child.

But you only came through me.
You are moving,
like cool water through my fingers,
your own divine river.

There might come a day when you cannot forgive me.
When you decide I don’t understand.
When we grow apart.

But today,
I press your sun-kissed cheek against mine.

I feel the warmth of your sticky fingers on my neck,
my arms.

I feel you as a piece of my heart
and see you as the singular, infinite soul that you are
who happens to be in my care for a time.