Love in Four Dimensions

I spent months before he arrived worried,
that I would let him down, screw him up, not be good … or enough.

I was scared of him when we first met,
certain that I'd drop him or break him … or not know what to do when he pooped.

I didn't, he didn't, we figured it out.

I remember being tired, so very tired … all of the time when he was little.
I could feel the gap between the father that I wanted to be, and the one I was ….

Looking back, I worry about diverging roads,
and being sorry that I cannot go back and take the ones less grumpy/tired/resentful.

He loves me so absolutely, so fiercely, that it frightens me,
I want to be worthy of that brand-loyalty, and am at times certain that I am not (cannot be).

I watch him play and eat and sleep and read and work,
wondering if he's as happy as he could be …
if I should have:
           picked him up sooner (or later) when he cried
                      spent more time (around, with him, reading, snuggling)
                                told him that I loved him more often/emphatically

His victories and greatness are all his own, his creation … him;
his shortcomings or failings all smell of me … things I did or didn't do.

He was born pure and perfect, nothing but promise,
Any mountains he doesn't climb can be traced back to me.

It's possible that all parents are this flavor of crazy.


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