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- 17 Mar 18

And Then You Were Seven

The earliest days bought tears,
Sleepless nights, sore breasts,
A pathological fear of cot death, Forever checking your breath.
Holding you in my arms,
Every time I ate,
Spilling food on your small head,
As you slept upon my chest.

And then you were seven.

Year one saw me jumping for joy,
With each tiny step you made,
Learning to run before you could walk,
Grazed knees, heads and toes.
First sentences, real friendships,
A million trips to the park,
Seeing the true ‘you’ forming,
Such a lovely little girl.

And then you were seven.

Two seemed so grown up,
No longer my little babe,
Becoming so independent,
Expressing yourself through rage.
Paint on the carpet,
Crayons on the wall,
Playdough on the laptop,
Chalk on the floor.

And then you were seven.

You started at preschool,
Once you turned three,
Didn’t even look back,
Just strolled away from me.
You coped with a house move,
A baby sister too,
Relocation to the Cotswolds,
Handled it ‘oh’ S o cool.

And then you were seven.

At age four you stood in the hall,
Your uniform smart and crisp,
Every item of clothing named,
Your shirt, your skirt, well pressed.
I tore myself away,
Left you, that first day,
The tears pricking my eyeballs,
The back of my throat, choked.

And then you were seven.

At aged five you got sick,
Puked up late at night,
A bucket by your bedside,
Sweat on your brow.
We took turns to comfort you,
Washing machine on full,
A duvet in the dustbin,
A pillow in there too.

And then you were seven.

At six you discovered you passions,
Your art, your food, your books,
Your imagination took you places,
I’d forgotten where to look.
You flew broomsticks with Hermione,
Had tea with the Hatter too,
Married the imaginary boyfriend,
Went on imaginary honeymoon.

And then you were seven.

Seven feels so grown up,
Heading on a decade, gone.
My girl not quite so little,
My eldest not so young.
A part mourns the years past,
All those days of fun,
I want to hang on longer,
To the child like playtime.

But as you turn seven,
I look ahead and smile,
A lifetime of firsts still ahead of us,
All the excitement still to come.
Your first trampoline competition,
Your first ballet grade exam,
In years ahead a first kiss,
As you turn into a woman.
We couldn’t be prouder,
Of the person you’ve become,
Thank you for being our daughter,
Thank you for making me ‘Mum’.

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Sarah Jarman

Primarily a Mum, aspiring Author, Freelance Writer and Artist, Blogger, Foodie and Jewellery Designer just having fun doing all the things I love! My portfolio available to view over on my website

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