In the beginning there was him
And there was me.
I only remember briefly what it was like before
babies made three
and then four.
Babies, they grow and suddenly the tiny things attached at the breast
And then the hip
And then the hand, occasionally
Become attached by only the heart.
I stare at him
the man to whom I vowed
my heart and my life and my loyalty
and I wonder at who he's become through
sickness and health
good times and bad
babies grown into kids.
I love him beyond what I once knew of love.
I wonder if he sees me for who I have been or who I am or who I am becoming.
Wife morphed to mother of tiny little things
who stumbled out of her high heels and into her bare feet pacing the floor with two small babes in arms.
Mother of babes now grown into kids stumbling her way back into the occasional heels and the more-often companion to the first boy who took captive her heart.
In the beginning
there was him and me
and babies made three and four.
Babies turned preschooler and child
more often now make just two of us tangled up in weekends alone,
a preview of life to come
and a reminder that one day again
it will be just me