Baby Games

He turns to me and coos.
Cherubic cheeks lift,
reveal tiny pearls of white
on the bottom row.
He looks at me–then away,
looks at me–then away,
a peek-a-boo game
he wants me to join.
He writhes beyond Papa’s arms,
reaches out, coaxes me
to tickle him, sing silly songs,
smile with googly eyes.
Then his gaze turns, drawn by
the shiny silver trash bin
across the room. As he waddles
to his new conquest, I marvel
how in eleven months he’s mastered
breaking women’s hearts.