When I hold her, she looks just like me
When he holds her, she looks just like him
Either way, we’re never not holding her
She and I count down the minutes until his arrival
My aching arms are relieved of their sweet load
and suddenly able to furiously work and tick off to-dos
Her laughter bubbles and erupts as he handles her
like a cuddly piece of sports equipment
Even as I’m grateful for the space, I’m envious of their touch
The way her limbs curve around our frames in natural comfort
The way her flesh takes on the color of ours
She is a living embodiment of our oneness in every way.
And yet she is so uniquely her own.
I crave them in this deep-down-in-the-belly way
that sometimes feels insatiable and tempestuous
And other times I just want an hour alone to miss them
This is love. This is love. This is love.