Comforting Chaos

In the mayhem and the madness of motherhood,

My child's hand in mine is the eye of the storm -

Calm and still while chaos spirals out from that centre.

If home is where the heart is, this is it.

As I cradle my son's head to my chest,

Or kiss the top of my daughter's head,

I know, that this is it.

When panic rises and anxiety mounts, rearing up

unbidden, unwanted, unwelcome and untameable -

The only thing that can recentre me is their touch.

Eyes wide with wonder and welcome

Inviting me back from the brink,

Their innocence leaves space

For me to breathe and think.

They leave a trail of destruction, their toys strewn

All over the house. Their books in towers teetering

Into collapsed heaps on every surface in every room.

But the mess they bring is joyful,

Even when it sparks me

Into fleeting irritation. Unlike

The hidden mess within.

Sometimes, the unpredictability and constant change

Of parenting pulls at those threads already frayed

Over the years before they arrived. I know that's about me,

My past. Not them, and not now.

My own childhood left scars on my mind

That I struggle to let heal. My big fear...

Is that I will leave different marks

Even as I seek new ways to be.

Their hands, their tiny toes, the softness of their skin

Like new buds in Spring, tender and fragile.

What power in vulnerability children bring!

When my mind is battered,

Jostled and weary, worn and hungry

Like a long lost traveller -

My child's hand takes me home.