My daughter the magician.

The gift of a tiny guru.

I remember reading once that your mother is your original guru, but now, being a mother myself, I think that it might be the other way round. That, or the mother/child bond is such that the origin is indecipherable. The intertwining spirits of mother and baby have been in a dance long before their physical manifestation, and remain in that vortex beyond their worldly lifetime. Whilst I might show and teach her things day-to-day, I truly believe that she has been preparing me for this role for decades.

I have previously written about the realisation of all the times that my daughter Ruby had been orbiting me, since I myself was a child; obviously far too young to be thinking about motherhood, but gently aware of what was in store for me nonetheless. It wasn’t until I was about 6-8 weeks pregnant with her that she boldly revealed her name, but I know now that she was around long before that, giving me playful little nods and pokes, and sometimes even brutal life lessons, to test me into the readiness to bring her over to this side.

Everyone thinks that their child is magic, sure, but I know mine to be a magician.

She doesn’t speak words yet, but she tells me the best stories. She doesn’t always do things in the same way that other children her age do, but she is no less sincere in her intentions. She has taught me the alchemy of presence and silence. She has taught me the truest patience I have ever known.

I recently took her to a baby course for children with developmental delay; one of many things I have been meaning to do with her, but given her condition being what it is at her still very young age, windows of suitable wellness for such things have been few and far between.

But not this time. This time the stars aligned.