Motherhood isn't creationI didn't choose your nose, hair, orwild dispositionI didn't select what would make you cryor the colours you'd be drawn toI didn't put the sparkle inyour eyes, or the bells in your laughI may have mixed the ingredientsbut I didn't write the recipe.No, motherhood is not creationIt's the tending of a gardenKnees in the rocky mudsweat dripping into eyes under thehot but life-giving suna sprinkling of waterthe endless picking of weedsguarding against hungry beastsjoy as the First sprouts appear.There is no creation in motherhood,no ownershiponly stewardshipand a quiet but profound Faiththat if cared forthe child will bloom.