Motherhood Magic

My fence is not painted.
My garden not renovated.
I did not have a skip delivered to my driveway
to be filled with dusty, long-hoarded possessions,
now dispossessed from garage, cupboards, drawers.

I have not cleared out my wardrobe.
I have not worked through a to-do list.
I have not queued at DIY stores
with a shopping list of bits
and pieces needed to complete the odd jobs
to make my house look a bit more
Showhome.

I am not now fluent in a foreign language.
I am not a self-professed Bake Off contender
or the author of the next best-selling debut thriller.
I did not run a marathon in my back garden
or around the streets dressed in a superhero cape,
raising spirits, smiles and money.

No, my lockdown has been far less sedate. 

I have been a forest explorer, builder of campfires, fighter of trolls,
fearless follower of footprints - tracking giants,
stealer of treasure from a mucky pirate crew,
painter of rocks, painter of rainbows, painter of murals on garden walls.

I was a dispenser of cuddles, kisses, snacks and dry pants.
I was a tickle monster, a kissing monster, a fire-breathing dragon.
I was a baddie, a goodie, a sidekick, a superhero’s dog.
I was the remote control controller, wiper of tears,
cleaner of scraped knees, Magic cream applier.
I collected moments of laughter and joy, frustration and fears.

I was “go on” and “try again” and “I know you can”
and I was a heart bursting with pride
watching my boy flourish and grow
in the biggest challenge we have ever known.

I spent my lockdown falling deeper in love 
than I ever thought possible.
I spent my lockdown being a Mother.

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