The following is a piece that I intended to submit for the Mothers Milk writing prize (support small press, they really matter!). However the deadline came round and I wasn't happy it was long enough or strong enough for submission, so I've decided to share it here instead.
This body was made to mother you,
but I didn’t always know this. Deep in a
night when the moon was dark, this body joined with another and together they
created a spark within my womb and that spark was you. I felt that spark, knew it, a woman’s knowing
of life arriving within.
This womb nurtured and nourished
you, cradled and protected you. This belly swelled and grew and told the world
that here was a new soul, precious and life changing. That here was a new
mother being created along with her child. This belly rippled and danced as
together we flowed from moon to moon.
Early morning and this body
announced you were heading earth-side.
Energy rippled through me, through this womb as you made your birthing
journey. These hips rocked to an ancient
rhythm and when the moment came this body roared you out, like every other
mother there has ever been, generation after generation. Instinctive and primal,
this body opened up and birthed you into waiting, loving hands.
In that moment I knew this body was
made to mother you. These arms were made
to hold you, your body a perfect fit against mine, skin to skin, heart to
heart. These hands to touch you, to
trace every feature and commit it to memory. These eyes to look into yours and
say we belong to each other. Every sense
breathing you in, this body will know yours always and forever.
These breasts were made to nourish
you, to comfort you, to pillow your downy head in sleep. You instinctively seek them out, clinging on
to my clothes, my hair. You suckle
furiously and wait for the rush, your eyes closing, you snuffle and mutter your
milky dreams against my skin.
I remember a younger version of me,
the version that didn’t know it would want you one day. The version that didn’t like this body very
much. That girl didn’t know then that
she would be proud of what her body could do.
That she would be proud of the silvery marks on her skin that tell the
story of motherhood.
As you grow and change, this heart
finds joy in every smile and yet mourns the passing of the days. We talk of everything and nothing, I mutter
comforting nonsense into your ears. I
sing to you of starlight and moonshine and dreams. As we lay together in the half light of early
morning, as my body nourishes you at the breast, I know that every part of me,
was made to mother you.
