Nine months or so of waiting
(moreso if you've been trying)
from when you see the results.
Home pregnancy test, a dipstick for her pee.
Doctor's visits and watching what you eat.
Ultrasound offering a glimpse
of a bouncing baby joy.
Sleepless nights
keeping with the rhythms.
When it comes down to it,
those last two weeks last too long.
Freddy Flintsone in the waiting room
pacing back and forth
wearing down the bedrock
worrying Wilma in the wings.
Until: "Look what we've got here!"
Holding him up
naked as the day is long
in front of God and everyone.
The world revolves around this son
pinching, poking, prodding
just to get a reading
parental paparazzi
pics between the feeding.
Stuck in the biliruben rave machine
dancing 'cross the scene.
Kids these days.
Parenting knit into our nature,
fawning over this young buck.
Could hibernate for days
if only he could bear it.
We'd love to have you longer,
but it's past his bedtime, you see.
There's this time-dump
sitting and staring
wondering what came before
and what we're missing out on now.
There could be so much more in the periphery,
but I'm afraid to miss something.
Up with the cries
dawning that sleep is
but a figment.
Caught in dreams
fragmented follies
because the sleep's so broken.
Change, sleep, play.
Working magic
and the tricks up sleeves
wave a wand of wonders.
Sing a song about a bumblebee.
Patty-cake with his feet
marking with a "B"
when clearly Harrison
begins with an "H."
Today, I watched this
over and over.
Where does the time go?
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