Quick, my sweet, the sun is out
Diaper! Sweatshirt! Pants!
Boots and hat a puffy coat
Before we lose our chance
That’s great you want to read a book
But you must understand
When the sun comes out in Portland
You just have to change your plans
Waiting
I have waited
For my father to come out of a coma
With a black dress in my suitcase
I have waited
For the result of an amnio
The giant needle was the easy part
I have waited
For a placenta
To be manually removed from my body
I can wait through this
Bubbles
Sitting on the floor and blowing bubbles
As my baby laughs and shrieks with sheer delight
Each one forms a perfect sphere of colors
Floating in the late October light
Beside us on my table lies my tablet
With news of death, destruction, and decay
But the metaphor’s too obvious to bypass:
Who am I to cast this joy away?
Handles
Every age has got its challenges
Every age has got its charms
Life sure felt overwhelming
With a newborn babe in arms
I thought I had a handle
I don’t think so anymore –
Yesterday this toddler reached
The handle of a door
To Baby Iain
We’re sending the warmth
Of the sun as it shines
And the smell of tomatoes
That grow on the vines
The chill of the water
On plants so they’ll grow
We’re thinking of you
And though you don’t know
The sound of the wind
Or the bird with his song
We’re sending you summer:
Grow healthy and strong
Self-fortification
Instead of saying ‘self-care’
Let’s call it self-fortification
‘Cause we have to strengthen ourselves
In order to strengthen our nation
Nap Anxiety
Getting things done while the baby naps
Is always a bit of a scramble
You never know how long she will sleep
So it’s also a bit of a gamble
Meals or mess or mindfulness
You cannot do them all
So make your pick and do it quick
Before you hear her call
Molars
To everything
There is a season
They say ‘erupting’
For a reason
Captain Sarah
Sarah’s going vroom vroom vroom
On her airplane in our living room
I send a pic across the sea
To our distant family
Someday she will ride a jet
But that day isn’t coming yet
Alas, we do not know quite when
‘Til then, I guess, we’ll just pretend
Just like Mama
Sarah now desires
To copy what I do
She reaches for my hairbrush
And my glasses and my shoe
I suppose that I should savor
This desire while it lasts
The days of thinking Mama’s cool
Will soon be in the past
Emily Adkins Bostian 