He fumbles a little
eyes darting between me and the blankets
The smile on his lips
the crease in his eyebrows
don't add up
stands up
sits down
turns to the side
reaches out
pulls back
He laughs.
I pull the blankets back
two black gems shine
in the moonlight
new skin with eyebrows dancing
he reaches out
I rest the blankets in his arms.
upright
not too far back
yaaaaawwwnnnn
His face breaks to a smile
one hand finds a foot
a tiny hand reaches out
to his finger
afraid,
but he laughs
ok. So I tried poetry format. Now I will try the same experience in block form. I think I get too confined in what a 'poem' should look like.
I looked down at two black eyes, barely exposed in the late evening's cold. Top 40's music plays just a hair too loud, and I bounce my knee to the beat. I make the occasional nod to a parent to say, "Hey! He's still breathing over here! I think this counts as a success!" People come by to pat a leg, or 'fix' him the only way that they know how. He rubs his hands together in a menacingly way, and randomly gives a half-smile that I assume is an indication pooping, thinking about pooping, or a primer to crying. I play with his fingers, and fiddle with the blanket to make sure his legs are covered.
I look over at my boyfriend. We'd just said yesterday that he'd never held a newborn before. He is looking at the baby, and then asks if he can try. I repeat to him what was said to me when he ended up in my arms, "He likes to sit up. Don't lay him back." Brian's demeanor changes. He never loses his smile, but he immediately seems unsure. He stands up, sits down, changes positions, holds out his hands, pulls them back, and then just laughs. I don't know why, but I expected that sometime in the 6 seconds all of that took that he would change his mind. But finally, I come back to reality, and lean over to deliver the baby to him. He holds out his arms, instinctively correct. The baby settles right in and does what most babies do when they see the beard, and just stare at it in wonder. The baby's gestures go from hand rubbing to bar fight. His arms are reaching as if to say, "Let me up! Let me at 'em!" Brian rearranges, again, without a glitch, and puts his finger out for the baby to grab.
I don't hold babies often. I work with older kids. I've felt the emotions and flood of bonding brain chemicals while feeding a bottle to a baby, but in one moment Brian was holding a baby, and in the next he was interacting with the baby. They locked finger in hand for a long while. The smile was glued on Brian's face.
This wasn't a moment of realizing he would be a good father. I've known this for awhile. It was amazing to watch someone unaccustomed to infants, become instantly comfortable.
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