She lays on his arm, her tiny head engulfed by his broad hand. He has black grease stains up to his elbows that soap didn't take off. It's clung to the callouses on his fingers like black ink spots would on men who write stories, and it tells his story.
A hard working man's man who loves cars, and sports, and getting dirty. Who doesn't have time for frills or fluff or delicate things. But you wouldn't guess it now. Because she is nothing but delicate and perfectly at home there. And he handles her as gently as a person could and holds her with a tenderness that cannot be rivaled, for she belongs to him. She is his child.
He used to worry about the frailness of babies, used to worry about the diapers, and demands, and needs of those mysterious things. But you wouldn't guess it now, because he has stepped up to the plate and taken that ball home...changing diapers in seconds, dressing, burping, feeding.
I watch him kiss them, listen to him gurgle and coo, and hear him tell extravagant stories to two little big eyed babies...and I wonder at the evolution of this man from just a guy...to father.
It's time to go now and he scoops her up with a deftness he has previously always shown in anything physical, and walks out the door, only to return seconds later and ask..."is there another binki? this one doesn't match her outfit."
A hard working man's man who loves cars, and sports, and getting dirty. Who doesn't have time for frills or fluff or delicate things. But you wouldn't guess it now. Because she is nothing but delicate and perfectly at home there. And he handles her as gently as a person could and holds her with a tenderness that cannot be rivaled, for she belongs to him. She is his child.
He used to worry about the frailness of babies, used to worry about the diapers, and demands, and needs of those mysterious things. But you wouldn't guess it now, because he has stepped up to the plate and taken that ball home...changing diapers in seconds, dressing, burping, feeding.
I watch him kiss them, listen to him gurgle and coo, and hear him tell extravagant stories to two little big eyed babies...and I wonder at the evolution of this man from just a guy...to father.
It's time to go now and he scoops her up with a deftness he has previously always shown in anything physical, and walks out the door, only to return seconds later and ask..."is there another binki? this one doesn't match her outfit."
that is a beautiful description of a beautiful transformation. the more I read of you, the more I love both you and your writing, Heather. Really!
ReplyDeleteOh dear Kessia. You are such a dear...wish we lived closer. I just play with writing, must have been our homiletics class:-)
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