My Mother’s Mother made my mother,

My mother then made me.

Layered one upon the other,

We’re one split into three.

Grandma’s mother died too soon,

Before she could teach how

to comfort crying with a tune

or soothe a furrowed brow.

In turn her manner was abrupt.

Though she did her very best,

To hold her littles when they’d erupt,

Putting her patience to the test.

My mother learned instructions

on how to tend and care

From grandma’s acquired deductions

Then she improved from there

One blustery November morn

Early two months to the day

I shot out near airborne,

Screaming all the way.

My mother was ecstatic.

For she wanted nothing more

than her own tiny acrobatic

to cuddle and adore.

From soft voice and warm hands

Her love for me did flow,

And as far as her tenderness did span,

My understanding of nurturing did grow.

When my own boys came along

I had a mix of both spice and nice.

And though sometimes mothering went wrong,

I had the wisdom to think twice.

From grandmother, I inherited resolve.

From mother, a gentle heart.

But I continued to evolve,

More insight to impart.

To pass down what I’d inherited,

And what I’d discovered for myself.

Following in footsteps is merited,

But so is belief in oneself.

For my mother’s mother made my mother

My mother then made me.

Though layered one upon the other,

We created our own families.