a disaster…

The house is a mess

the floor’s a disaster

toys, stuffed animals

books and smiley

faces replace

the normal unassuming

household apace – ugh.

Letters, numbers

half inch foam pieces

of pink and brown

cover our once beautiful

hard wood floors -

and this is just

the beginning

of the change one

should expect

with a new infant.

No sleep, no sex

no late night romance

not many movies,

and fewer dates

and the ways of old

have closed their doors –

gone for the time being,

at least till baby sitters

might stay for a night –

without fretful tears

free of babies’ deep anxiety

separation it seems

and we can breathe again –

that we might regain

our solid footing -

taste the taste

of our old love.

Until then

it’s me whining

and complaining

it is bottles –

putting out dirty diapers

full of poop

and wet wipes,

with all night wake ups,

and one of us

sitting with patience

running thin

under fans in our darling’s room

on hot summer nights –

rocking, rubbing, soothing

sympathetically

and waiting for sleep to come.

It is pacifiers,

spoons, bowls and plates

loading and unloading

our dishwasher

with bottles, nipples and more

bottles it seems -

naps, formulas, creams, juices

booster seats,

spitting up on Mom and Dad.

It’s funny –

after all this

the lack of sleep

and the late nights -

just observing

her two toothed grin

just listening

to her funny little laugh

reveling in her innocence -

while staring up from dark young eyes

It seems to make up

for all those rocky nights

of whacky sacrifice -

and when her tiny hand

grips, holds tight,

she speaks the nonsensical words

the “dada” “cat”

the who knows what

and her eyes light up

and my night turns

upside down to day.

When all the dirty diapers

dissolve

and simply - go away.

Doug Claybourne – for Marea.

Copyright © 2012. Doug Claybourne All Rights Reserved