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.