Baby Book
Will you look at me one day
with eyes long-since turned brown
and ask the date you first smiled?
These dates I have not recorded
your baby book sits mostly blank
no pictures, no memories
a few names and dates
scrawled desperately onto a page or two.
Does this mean I am a bad mother?
I race through the moments of my day
fingers flying over a plastic keyboard
as though working faster will
somehow
make the time move more quickly
give me one extra second with you.
But time accelerates only when I sit quietly
enjoying the weight of you in my arms
only when we sit together on the floor
as you grin so hard your eyes squint
and laugh at my silly faces.
I held you as you fell asleep last night
then held you a few moments longer
savoring the round cheeks, the gentle sigh of your breath
the half-grin that shows me your dreams were peaceful.
I blinked as my eyes filled
vague pictures of someone immensely smaller
yellow-ish pink and squalling
as I rocked you to sleep the night you were born.
I want to tell the clock to slow down
the days to stopping flittering by.
I want to hold my baby
just a little longer.
I want to have just a few moments more
than I've been granted.
Time moves quickly across your life
each day you are new to me.
I look at the baby book
sitting dusty on its shelf
and look at the baby
lying quiet in my arms,
close my eyes and begin to rock
humming a lullaby to my son.
These moments I cannot record
in that dusty binder
and these are the moments that matter.
(c) Julie Costa All Rights Reserved
Comments to Author
Share This Page With A Friend
|
if you have any questions or comments!