Sometimes I think of you as my daughters

And sometimes I think of you as interesting people in my home.

You were attached to my hip for such a long time, like a three cell amoeba manoeuvring through the world, insisting on not only surviving but triumphing.

Now there is space between us and it is not just geography.

You used to tell me everything. EVERYTHING.

Now when you are quiet I wonder.

When you go up to your room and close the door

or don’t respond for a while to my texts

Was he nice to you?

are you feeling blue?

how is the stress of life?

how do you see your beautiful self with harsh eyes or gentle ones?

do you remember perspective?

are you working from a position of strength or weakness?

did you sleep?

did you feed your body?

your soul?

do you feel alone?

or do you feel how loved you are?

are your friends good to you?

are you good to you?

do you feel your family is broken?

But instead of a thousand questions, I only ask one hundred, I kiss you and hug you and try to listen.

I try not to judge.

When you tell me something intimate, I say to myself, remember being a teenager  and I try to act from that. I want you to know you can come to me but don’t have to if you don’t want to. I still want to be a mom to you.

I want to be your safe place.

I love this time as much as the other.

But it takes some getting used to.