Summer of Dad

When my daughter was about 18 months and I was deep in the mama haze a well meaning friend gently assured me that it would get easier. She said that around two years old most kids make a shift from all- mama-all- the -time to being smitten with Dad. Daddy becomes the fave for baths, food, etc... Well my daughter didn't do that until she turned five -- but now she has done it with a bang. That's why this is the Summer of Dad!

My husbands work schedule changes in the summer months giving him more daytime at home. So this summer- swim lessons with Dad! Fishing ( and catching something everytime she drops her line!)-- with Dad! Creemees? daddy daddy daddy..

Each night that I am at work they go off on a major adventure. It has only been two weeks but we have crossed a bridge here. So, imagine my surprise when in talking to me she says,"Dad- oh I mean, Mom..." WHAT!? For five years she calls dad by the wrong name, screams for me when she gets hurt, prefers my method of cutting sandwiches and delivering various and sundry snack items...

Are we approaching some delicate balance? I mean I still do all the bedtimes and cant use the bathroom alone BUT.... ...wow.

I watched you sleep
fingers falling from your mouth
face surrendering in reverie
peaceful, jaw slack
like I had seen so many times
so long ago
when we slept together
so often
but now I catch only glimpses
of my past teeny baby
your dad carried you to the house
you sunk into his chest
his chin, the crook of his neck
just like you did then
we melt, sigh, remember
waiting for the next time
we can watch you sleep
like this.

Fifth Birthday

Fifth Birthday

I have never baked a cake at midnight before.
Sifting flour and cocoa, knowing you sleep in my bed upstairs
Exhausted eyes finally grew heavy .
We didn't brush your teeth or hair.
I will be up until quarter of two tonight, cleaning.

Every year further from that night
when low thunder and summer rain guided you into the world.

Further from the wonder and disbelief at hearing birdsong
-birdsong-
from behind the shaded windows
having no sense of time or space
amazed that hours had passed
and found the bluish first light of dawn

Further every year from my belly
post partum
heavy and exquisitely soft
marked by silvery fish scales
and shadowed in plum,
my breasts weeping milk.

I have long since surrendered to the of each passing moment

Grieving, celebrating, grieving,
the everything of our days.