With Father’s Day nearing and no baby on the way, Allie expressed her sadness and desire to give me a son (especially since I am the last of the family). I already have a daughter, but I dream of Allie experiencing motherhood. Honestly, I can’t help but wonder what our love could create.
Me, I have a thing for little girls. These are my words for my Isabella.
what I would give
to hear your first cry
my heart will fill
with pride and joy
which no one can deny
I wish you were here
With a toothless smile
on the floor we’ll drink
from your tea set as we
pretend for a little while
Please come to us
You are our missing link
We can go shopping
to buy you pretty dresses
with satin bows of pink
how can one miss a baby
perhaps never meant to be
leave that up to your
good old sentimental me
Amelie kept a secret She never revealed in poems against her doctor’s orders love grew inside her womb Hidden from the world An illness beyond words She penned a fatal sacrifice her masterpiece to the world nine months her secret grew until she birthed a little girl breathtaking beyond her prose Amelie drew her final breathe
Some surrender their heart Others relinquish their soul Amelie chose to give herself The things we do for love
My day started like any other day cursing the literary Gods for not publishing my brilliant novel while standing in the kitchen adding sweetener to my morning coffee. Knocking the jar over, the delicious whiteness spilled onto the counter. Before I could fret over the sudden delay in my morning fix or over the rising cost of sugar, the baby said, “Oh shit.”
The child looked at me and smiled.
The thought “don’t laugh” echoed in my skull like an obnoxious car alarm screeching in the freakin’ middle of the night. Where did she learn such an appropriate phrase? And I say appropriate only because she used it in all its contextual glory with perfect pronunciation and intonation; all this from a two year old who to this day won’t say her own name.
Did she learn this language watching Peppa Pig? Or has SpongeBob gotten his Square Pants in a bunch? Where in the world could she haven’t learned this language?
Taking the low road as any respectful male adult would do, I chose to ignore her choice of words as if this mere act could strike the phrase from her memory. After making a mental note to advise my wife of the baby’s newest vocabulary word, I started cleaning up the mess.
As fate would have it, I stubbed my big toe and a thousand thunder bolts attacked my aching appendage like Walmart shoppers on Black Friday. Before I could bite my lip I uttered, “Oh shit.”
Baby looked at me. She raised her thick brows and smiled.