This was some months ago, and we still have to watch her about this. She is so cute–starts to bring something to her mouth and looks to see if we are watching!
She waddles across the wooden floor,
bare feet flopping like webbed feet,
flailing her arms, testing flight,
while aiming toward anything
paper or cardboard or forbidden.
My bladder swells to a yellow dirigible. I hurdle
the latticed baby fence snug between a doorway,
dart to the commode to pee
a laser stream, and imagine
on the return hurdle all is well but—
as she sits on the rug leaning over,
too quiet. Much too quiet. Is she masticating?
I swoop, clutch her into my lap, and she grins,
two bottom teeth covered by white gunk,
gumming something—cheeks hamster sized—
What the hell?
My finger scoops her cheek, teeth,
and out comes a tissue spitball
big as a golf ball but she gums more
so, from the other cheek,
I finger out a black soggy mass,
a former dust bunny—
and from tranquil to tantrum
she protests it is time for lunch.