On Teething

As most every Sunday,
I spent a portion of my day at church.
And as so many Sundays these days,
I spent a portion of that time yesterday
In a small room
Feeding my baby.
Sometimes alone
Sometimes not.
In one of those moments alone,
I felt it:
The beginning of the end.
A small, swollen gum had ruptured,
And unveiled the sharp tip
Of independence.
I felt the thrill of milestones conquered,
And then
The lump,
Forming somewhere in my throat.
Ahhh, yes,
They say this happens--
All those seasoned mothers and parenting books--
That it goes too fast.
Much too fast.
In that moment I felt
The crossing of a threshold:
Things have changed.
In that moment I felt
That things will never go back to how they were,
And that he was now
One step further from me.
The security of childhood is fleeting,
As are the moments in motherhood
Of complete connection.
When nurturing is sacred and sweet,
And all is right in the world.
Where tiny hands twirl strands of hair,
And deep gazes communicate
The essence of an emerging soul.
My heart wants to freeze this frame,
Forever suspending it in time and space.
But my mind knows that
Emerging souls were not born to tarry
In time nor space.
And so my grasp is loosened,
At once
Reluctantly,
Yet delightedly.