I checked my phone, three missed calls at 7:45am. No one calls that early. It must have been the online delivery scheduling a time to drop off the bottles and breast pads I bought. I've been so looking forward to having actual pads to keep me dry, instead of half-useful stuffed bits of cloth that I pull from here and there.

I called back. It was - the delivery driver. I needed to draw cash still so negotiated a little later with her. She asked how far I'll be going, "Just across the road, I shouldn't take long" I answered. The ATM is about 300 meters from my house. Not at all far. But for me, today, the short journey felt momentous. My first time out since birth.

For the sake of time I took an uber, thinking my driver would be happy to drop me off, wait a moment and take me back home. I hopped in the back of the car, feeling vulnerable. I wanted to tell him it's my first time out of the house since giving birth and becoming a mother. I didn't really want to tell him though. I greeted and asked if he'd be willing to wait for me. "I'd rather not" he returned, directly. I respected his answer. I also felt an ouchy sting of no longer being taken care of the way I was during pregnancy. The consideration, the tenderness - flown - gone. I was just Yana again. Just. Yana. It felt confusing and new.

I wished the driver well, hopped out the car and drew cash. Shopped for some simple food things and looked around me like the whole world was new. I tumbled in warm thoughts of my daughter. "She exists" I spoke to myself beneath a light blue medical mask. "I have a child. A baby girl." I looked at the flowers in the supermarket. They had a new voice. Wore a different kind of colour. As though they had dressed in celebration for that moment, to welcome me.

On my way out I met the delivery driver in the car park. Paid her and collected my things. My bags were light so I decided to walk home. The sun shone. The trees wore their spring-time bright-green best and stood smart in the breeze. I walked home with my feet firm on the ground and tears confidently queuing in my face. One day my little one will greet this wide world. For now, it remains an out-of-sight stranger. Let me introduce her sweetly.

I picked three pink flowers. A gift for her. Two homeless guys waved at me as they watched me walk on, holding them. I carried them proud, thinking of the many little gifts my Mama brought me through my life. Little loud blessings that mean what we make of them. I entered home, greeted my husband, and placed the flowers in her hand which pressed against his chest. One day she'll know the wilderness of this place we live in. The expanse of the human realm we play in, driving bodies.

Evening arrived and Papa had her laying in a blanket-filled basket. She kicked about happy, dummy in mouth. I watched the dummy fall and moved towards her to pick it up. She caught my eyes and locked into a gaze. Deeper than any we've shared before. I gave myself to her and felt her opening too. I've heard that eyes are the window to the soul, but I'd never felt it until now. Her face contorted. Dissolved into abstract art. We both stared deeper than the body and began to silently talk. Charming ourselves, we reminisced on her time in the womb and the years before then when she visited us, letting us know one day she'd come. She spoke to me of her one-day siblings. Asked her Daddy to sing - he didn't want to. I told her that I'm so proud of how she's been managing this new life here. That today I went outside the house, and I can't wait to go there with her too.