Rory's 8-week birthday. It's a storm of earthquakes and purely tropical weather, infection and fever and the first book of this year, a novel written in repetitive poetry which was published and sold because it was written by Ronald Reagan's daughter.

When I feed him I know he owns me, and he relaxes in that role and we are both washed in pure love. And plenty of milk. Outside of this place all manner of life commences, and it will wait for Rory and me - my devotion is complete and not a hardship.

He seems so very much mine - mine, and John's and Bekah's and Andy's. I look for hallmarks of his fatherhood and sometimes see an Asian slant to his eyes - I see a long torso and short legs - Carolyn pointed out the barest dimple in his receding chin. His eyes so far are still a clear blue. They and several dimples light up in his smile.

Something that crawls inside your consciousness before it can even crawl - before you knew it was this baby boy Rory - and after eight weeks he's there, all part of the family, not just a novelty but another being we live with who happens to be the easiest to shower love on - he just soaks it up and his very demeanor demands it - that's the nature of infancy. The wordlessness, the need and the passing back spontaneously. The joy. It was always known, yet never even suspected. Not for the first time does it cross my mind that having a baby and really good sex are the only two experiences that match the imagination, or even surpass it.

In one more week we will move on into the world - back to work. Rory will start on solids. I'll need to sleep better at night. Maybe just turn off the TV.

We're all making it. John is growing up - of course he's not there yet, but what a nicer guy he is. Perfection I never expected, would never get - I'm happy not to fight, happy that our voices stay level 90% of the time. Bekah's 12 and pretty and sweet and has a fine personality. I think when you really boil it down, what 12-year-old girls want to do more than anything else is laugh.

Andy has huge green eyes with long fair lashes and a constant smile where dimples play around his mouth - I think Rory is the same. John has deep dimples I swear I never saw until this year. We never smiled enough. Andy does dishes willingly, even without being asked. He's more intelligent than you suspect because of his speech - but he absorbs just about everything he hears or reads - and he reads constantly. He's also started a few books and the writing is surprisingly good. Andy's a gamer - like Ben and I both, I guess But how that boy loves to play! We already have a firm date for Las Vegas in 2004 - when he turns 21.

But mostly Andy has no mean bones as far as I can see and he is the one most displaced by the babies that have entered his life - Ben's daughter was born a week ago - In less than 2 months Andy went from the youngest of 3 to the middle of 5. And of course it 's hard to give him the attention he still wants. But how I love that boy and still and always rely on his hugs which are completely given and never denied. I just want to keep him as lovely as he is and spare his sensitive soul any pain that will change his ability to do all he wants - when he's so bright and so willing and energetic. This boy's got a future and his mother and father and sisters and brothers can't swamp it. I resolve: to spend at least a few minutes in a game with him every few days. He understands and does not demand but he desires all the time - and he deserves more often than he'll get. Andy takes succor where it is to be found - his soul is very close to his face. I want that smile near me.

© Barbara Bales 1992-2006 all rights reserved Poems

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