The first thing you ever know is your mother. It is long before you may feel with your yet-developing senses, so you do not know her repositioning of you day after day, turning and touching you and making sure you are hale. The first thing you know is the totality of her presence. It is before even you recognize that you are not her. She is, she is, she is infinitely and boundlessly, all you know, at first.
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Does she feel warm to you? Cold? Supportive or oppressive? Intimate or overbearing? In this timelessness, do you thrum with togetherness or flee for... something else, something that isn’t mother, some other sheltering Universe or... what else could there be?