Early-Life Crisis?

No small decisions for me, even at 4 months:
Do I wanna rock out to AC/DC ... er ... I mean AB/CD
or play with Terrapin Turtle (aka Terpy the Turtle)?

In my economy,
blankets are still comestibles.
I've learned to elude
nap-enforcement
the way some people charm
bill collectors:
I beam the parentals a pulsating
supernova smile
and they are putty
in my recently-sucked hands.

Nope. No small decisions at 4 months,
AB/CD or Terpy?



Guess we know who won the day?

Zach and Lennox

2nd cuzzins, born two months apart

already tight as spirals, just like their moms

who grew up together at Granny's house

swimming summers away outback

eating peaches and taco bell

cruising Santa Cruz, dreaming

on her beaches, admiring surfers

and surf, cakewalking the boardwalk,

sometimes more than eyeing ice-creams,

missing the gentle breezes and people

the rest of the year.

One afternoon, it fell to Matt to hold down the fort
whilst Suz and Steph were down in Filene's basement
and the two wiggle-worms took turns testing
his infant acumen, a brief baptism of baby flame . . .

Success!

All Smiles

Oh that every smile

could be captured like a butterfly,

pinned forever on the memory . . .

or engraved on the bronze

of the sky, emblazoning the dawn

with the image of God

happily countenancing

limitless possibilities

of an eternal Day.

Serenity Now!

With hurricane suddenness
and force
smiles and coos
fade altogether
giving way
to the five distinct cries
in my arsenal:

hungry cry,
dirty-diaper cry,
lonely cry,
fake cry,
and serenity-now cry:

a.k.a. the Not-tomorrow,
not-after-breakfast
NOW!-cry

Why can’t you parentals
figure out what I want?!

Okay, I’ve said my piece . . .
time for Zach to zonk.
In minutes,
I’m happier than a clam
in shallow waters
at sunset.

happier than the sunset himself
now that you mention it.

A Mom's Joy

Only she
can know this joy:
watching him grow
inch by ounce

his honey-vanilla
milky smell
his mannerisms
that seem almost expert

his grunts,
his groans,
his dovish coos
as he stretches himself
into the day
and smacks his lips,

the gentle splaying
of his fingers
fists of baby stress
clenched next to his temples

chipmunk cheeks,
gummy grins and grimaces
silent stares
and full-blown smiles
of recognition

little evening walks with him,
seeing her reflection—
and dad’s—
in his face, personality,
and soul.

Of Bottles and Binkies

Hard to tell the real suckers
from the sucked
Parents, pacifiers, or nippled bottles.

Zach’s most pressing philosophical question
these days: “What love I more?
Parent or binky or bah-bah?”

From zero to a hundred
in under three seconds
if he doesn’t get the bah-bah.

Dad’s hand has to stay on top
of the binky (a.k.a dragon appeaser)
to keep it in mouth.
It’s like keeping a lid on a basket,
or a hot coal on the lips of a prophet.

He had us trained.
At 4 a.m. we would rise like corpses
to the crescendoing grunts and squalls
climbing to climactic “wahhhh!”

Now he’s trained.
Been sleeping six hours straight.
Food coma comes on at 11 p.m.
Cooing at 5 a.m.

Zach

He was due today,
he arrived six weeks ago.
He started out at a little over 5 lbs.
He's almost 10 lbs. now.
Mom would have been passing
a veritable bowling-ball.
Dad watches him grow
and sometimes gets a vacant look
on his face, standing around
scratching his head, wondering
where time is flying off to.
He enjoys the noise
and ambient traffic of the city
Every time we take him
outside the lair
he just zonks.
Must be the fresh city air.

When we bring him back
into the lair
He drifts through the realms
of baby sleep
dreaming of mother's milk
and formulae
with contented smiles
drifting over his face
like tiny clouds
in an endlessly blue sky.