You Turn Three Next Week

a poem

You Turn Three Next Week

for Hildegaard

Through the baby cam, I can see
you working on a puzzle in bed. 
It’s still early enough that the sun 
is hesitating, vibrating just over the 
trees. You pause to rub your eyes,
then spot a plastic hammer. Now,
you wack at something, clunk, clunk, 
clunk, pretending to fix the world. 
You are so busy doing such important 
things. Your jammies are crooked and 
your hair rivals Einstein’s. You don’t yet 
think about the day before you; what you 
must accomplish, who you must please, 
how you can earn the most money for 
your time. You are simply waiting for me 
to open the door to your room and say:  

Morning, Sweetie! I missed you.
or
Hey Baby! How did you sleep?
or
Is that a puzzle in your bed? 

And then we will begin our day
together, walking hand-in-hand 
down the stairs to where your 
brother rocks, tick, tick, tick, 
back and forth in his swing. You
will soon be older than this. All
of this. But I can never forget the
day you were born, and all of my
poems will be about you forever.