You gaze upon your creation
and while the realization
that your life, body, emotions,
have forever been altered,
have yet to be realized,
you’re frozen in that moment;
the most beautiful you’ll ever experience.
You may not be able to control
the forthcoming tornado of shit
(literally, there is shit everywhere),
and your hair might be a mess
and your clothes might be a hot mess
and the pictures you capture are all now
about that creation, but you somehow
You’re the best mom that creation
will ever know, despite your innate flaws,
because you’ve dedicated every
iota of you unto it (is it not okay to call a child an “it”?).
Translated from the eyes of your child:
You’re perfect, mom.
Perfect role model.
I’m the luckiest kid in the world,
because you’re the perfect creation.
Love ya, mom.