They say nothing can prepare you, yet she was ready.
Books predicted the extra sensitive nipples
and Braxton Hicks false alarms.
What the pages left out was filled in
by soon-to-be grandmas and colleagues
balancing work on top of their lives.
Prenatal visits and birthing classes
checked off the last weeks.
He was working on the crib–
the missing piece to the bird-themed nursery.
She had done everything she needed to do
and before that married the college sweetheart,
bought the corner lot with fenced-in space
for the first of her 2.5 and the canine companion.
Waiting was all that was left.
After eradicating the traces of his last home brew
with bleach and iodine, he wondered
how much more of his life would change.
He wouldn’t have time to resurface the tub
before the baby came.
Everything was for the baby–
assembling the 4-in-1 crib from first-time grandparents,
upgrading to 2700 square feet three blocks away from Montessori.
At least obedience school taught him to hold his ground
when brown eyes begged for another treat.
But with his luck she’d have her mother’s green
and the curse of the Elmwood nose.
Teaching her how to stick up for herself
tacked on to his honey-do list.
The Living Poetry Project and NEVERMORE
11 months ago