Her water breaks while he's in the shower."It's time," she calls. Dazed, they gather things:
focal point, nightgown, unbelieveably
tiny green sleeper for the child who wants
to join them. She'll be induced
after a few hours when he stalls, labor room
mate moved out so the screams
of the unprepared don't upset the teenager who is.
She's dragged young husband to Lamaze,
done her homework, prayed up. Still, she slaps him
when he suggests a contraction's over before
the latest grip of pain has softened. He sees more of her than he ever wanted to, watches her do harder work than he's ever done and that's saying a lot, if you know him.
Tiny head emerges, perfect body. Boychild squawks,
new dad beams. New mom holds slippery boy to her breast
right away, just like the books advised. No way to tell if
he'll be smart or funny, strong or good. He's all of those,
in fact, wears excellence lightly, kindly. Firstborn,
he makes it look easy, sets the bar high,
standard by which sisters measure men,
the man his brother always knew he'd be.
(c) Ellen Gillette, 2012
Happy birthday to our son Caleb, 35 today. What a joy to watch him grow through the years.
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