(I blink a few times, the light from my window gently rousing me from sleep. With a stretch and a yawn, I push myself up to a sitting position and scratch at my hair a few times. It takes a bit of effort to release my hair from my overnight “pineapple” style, but after a few moments I feel my curls tumble gently over my shoulders and back.)

Mom (Present me): Ah, euphoria. I wonder what the girls are up to today.

(I hop out of bed, don a long flowy robe, and step out of my room. I can hear the sound of something sizzling from the kitchen and step in to see Libra standing over the range, preparing a meal of breakfast sausage, hash browns, and eggs.)

Mom (surprised): Oh! Daphne, you didn’t have to do this.

Libra (College me): Nonsense, it’s Mother’s Day! You deserve a nice breakfast — you’d just eat cereal otherwise.

Mom: I… Well, okay, granted. I’d have coffee too though — I can make that while you’re working; I see you’ve already started it.

Libra (insistent): Mom, go sit! I can manage in here. Out, out!

(Libra pushes me gently out of the kitchen and into the dining room. Bloom is sitting at the dining room table, waiting with a bouquet of flowers in hand. As I approach, Bloom leaps up from her seat and pushes the flowers into my arms.)

Bloom (High school me): Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

Mom (happy): Aww, they’re lovely! Thank you Bloom.

Bloom (smiling): You’re very welcome.

Mom: You didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you know. I would have been just fine treating this like a normal day.

Bloom: Maybe so, but this is fun! We love you, and Mother’s Day is an excuse to celebrate that. Besides, doesn’t it feel good to receive flowers?

Mom (content): It does, actually… It feels surprisingly affirming.

Bloom: See? Don’t complain then. Accept and enjoy the feelings!

Mom: Okay, I take your point. I’ll enjoy this day and accept these… I suppose they’re blooms, aren’t they?

(Bloom rolls her eyes at the obvious pun.)

Bloom: Ugh, Mom. That was awful, even by your standards.

Mom (pouting): Oh come on! I think it was halfway decent, at least.

Libra: Nope, it was bad!

(Libra enters carrying two plates of food which she sets at the table before disappearing back into the kitchen. She reemerges a moment later with two more filled plates, which she also sets down.)

Mom: You girls are a tough crowd.

Bloom: Aww, don’t feel bad, Mom. Humor just isn’t your thing.

Mom: You’d think my family would be more appreciative of my puns, given that you’re all past versions of me.

Libra: We didn’t start liking puns until later in life, remember? Not until our 30s, I think. Oh, speaking of which!

(Libra disappears back into the kitchen again, emerging this time with a single cup of coffee which she sets down at my place.)

Libra: We didn’t start liking coffee until our 30s either.

Mom: Ah, thank you Libra.

Libra: Okay then! Let’s sit down and eat before this gets cold. Wait, where’s Lark? She said she’d be here.

(As if on cue, the sound of the front door opening echoes through the house, and a moment later Lark steps through into the dining room.)

Lark (20s me): Sorry I’m late!

Libra: You’re right on time, sis. We were just about to eat.

Mom: Where were you, anyways?

Lark: Searching for this.

(Lark holds up a small stuffed hedgehog, only a little larger than her fist. It’s old and the fur that makes up its spines is matted flat in some places and pointed in random directions in others. It carries the distinct air of a well-loved stuffy.)

Mom (tearful): Oh my goodness, Lark! Where did you find that?

Lark: I had to go back quite a ways — this little one has been lost for a long time. But you still remember it, so I was able to locate it.

(I felt a tear drop from my eye as Lark held the hedgehog out to me. I caught a glimpse of my other daughters as I took it from Lark — Bloom and Libra were similarly teary-eyed. They clearly remembered this hedgehog too.)

Libra (awestruck): That must have been from when we were… What, two years old?

Lark (proud): Three, I think. Memories from that far back are totally indistinct — just vague impressions at best. There are only a handful of impressions that are tangible enough to actually grasp, but that hedgehog is one of them.

Bloom: Should we give them a new name? I don’t remember what it used to be.

Mom: Let’s see… They were lost to our past for a long time, but after a diligent search you finally found them. Maybe something like Eureka?

Lark: Eureka the hedgehog! I like that for her. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.

Mom (grateful): Thanks Lark.

Libra: Come on, let’s eat! The food is getting cold.

(I spend a moment conjuring a vase and turning Bloom’s bouquet into a centerpiece as all of us sit at the table and dig in.)

Mom: Thanks again for a lovely morning, girls. This… Feels important.

Libra: What do you mean, Mom?

Mom: I think it’s important to recognize that trans people have a sort of unique relationship with our inner children. That relationship is something that we can rely on, and really lean into. Even if our relationship with our birth parents is strained or broken, we can still celebrate parenthood by reparenting ourselves.

Bloom (contemplative): Strained or broken… Like ours is.

Mom (somber): Right… Like ours is. But you’re my daughters, and I’m your Mom. So today can still be a reason to celebrate.

Lark (smiling): Well said, Mom.

Mom: So what do you three have planned for the rest of the day?

Bloom: Well, I thought we could all revisit the memory of that garden…

(My family and I chatter on as we finish our breakfasts together.)