Stretching Out

Once upon a time, the stretch of carpet from one side of the room to the other was a continent

A big one

To cross by flapping your arms, then by wiggling your bum, then by crawling and then

One day, an unforgettable one, by taking a step,

And another

That led to so many

How many? So many.

Wobbly they were at first

Tumbled often, you did.

Never gave up.

You have since hiked up and down mountains.

You have crossed valleys.

You have walked along city streets.

You have danced on stages.

Your feet have touched sand, puddles, rock, grass, snow, ice, cobblestones.

Your legs have skipped at my side, with your wee hand tucked into mine, so snug.

Then you began venturing across town alone with a friend

Me, a street block behind, peeking around corners

Just to be sure that continent too was navigable.

It was. And became as familiar as the living room crossings.

And today, you drive to school.

An hour’s drive along our valley roads,

And I, similarly, driving behind you for the first time,

Just to be sure, this time for myself, for you are sure already.

And this too, I tell myself (and don’t believe yet), will become another living room.

You drive beautifully.

I sing in my car,

Sending you love,

Made-up songs of how much I cherish you.

And bless you.

As you make the world yours.

Driving behind you feels like such a treat.

That I get to pour my mother heart forwards

And watch you spread another wing, or two.

That I get to witness and wonder at your confidence and care.

And that I get to be comforted by your text: “made it safely!”

After our paths have parted for the day.

Continents drifting, stretching

Bridges getting longer

Journeys arching out

And curling back in

As we ebb and flow in this mother-daughter dance

Of Becoming and Being

Of trusting each other, and, dare we?… yes, the world too.