YOUR BROTHER

Both grandmothers
Are horrified when
Your father and I
Say you look like
A pretty orangutan.

Cousins and friends
Outraged when we
Show off your fuzzy,
mad-scientist, male-
pattern-baldness hair.

***

Of course we only say these things
Around other people. Alone with you,
We are reduced to unclever,
childish annotation: Sooo cute!
Awesomest baby in the world!

Clearly, we just aren’t as well
Adjusted as your big brother,
Who is so proud of you
And so full of fond wonder
And doesn’t care who knows it.


___

THAT THING

Speaks like kisses
And stealthy looks
Draw your moist
Clothes closer.

Crosshatched by heat,
Slow moans signal
Limbs unhinging
And speak in yeses.


__

Coloring outside the lines

Li’l A (watching assorted colored puppies frolic):

They remind me of you and dad.

Why?

Some of my friends ask me, you know—you’re brown, your mom’s brown, but your dad’s white?!?!!

(I’m stumped. I always meant to talk to him about this *someday* but haven’t said much beyond the traditional palliatives about how it doesn’t matter what color someone’s skin is—it could be green for all we care—all that matters is what kind of person they are, etc.)

So what did you say?

Yeah, my dad’s white. So?????

Perfect. I wish I had thought of that comeback first. Not that anything will stop me from using it, anyway.

New Parent Fantasy (sadly, so not prontastic)

We’re getting, at the most, three hours of sleep a night. And on the nights that we do get those two+ hours, we’re so *grateful* for it. (The baby totally has us on some lovely variation of Stockholm Syndrome.) Recently, one night (I honestly can’t recall which one—it’s all a can’t-even-pee-in-peace blur) Big A and I were up together and caught The Amazing Race on the telly.

And decided that we’d be awesome at it.

And that we should go.

And--since Big A already had his i-book open—we should apply online at CBS.com

RIGHTAWAY.

And then we realized that they begin filming in March and that the baby would still be only six months old and that--really--we can’t go.

So we’ve decided to go in two years. We'd be so in form. We’d leave the kids at my parents'. And we’d make it all the way to the end and win. After all, if we lost it would mean that we’d have no choice but to return at once and reclaim the kids :).

_

Da newborn truth

I thought Baby A was smiling spontaneously this morning, but her smile faded slowly into a resoundingly satisfying burp… Sometimes it *is* just gas.

_

DAUGHTER

You have your brother’s ears

Folded over in origami

Except where his is

A leaf beginning its unfurl

You little girl, have flower buds

Planted at the sides of your head.

Your eyes, nose, mouth so wide

Your cheeks, long fingers, toes,

Your rage, and an almost smile,

All exactly, like your father’s—

So he asserts. Frequently. Fondly.

And sadly (smile), quite wrongly.

You’ve been here three weeks

Only I’ve yet to make my claim

And play the same-same game.

Although in secret still, your rings

Of softness, your new heft, make

The sting of my milk's let-down thrill:

All of you. My flesh. My blood.

__

At 39 Weeks

These days

are tied down

mostly

by print and paper

or they stay

asleep

firm, ripe plum,

plump.

Still your hands

seem webs or nests

--places

that are home

And i miss twisting

around you like flame,

making you disappear

inch by inch,

sweetly, in sweat:

while your touch

like twilight, smudges

me purple-tinged.

_