You're just a baby

A poem about spending time with children and longing for your own youth

You scream and run quicker than I knew possible with your shaky thumbs and sticky knees

You ask to touch the ceiling so we fly, and I think I might be even more excited than you because you have so much left to give

All you know are the things you have chosen to remember and all you remember is the smell of your mother’s perfume and the sound of her shoes on wooden floors 

You remember her crying too, but mom always got better and your grandparents will always be old and able to touch 

You will always be their favorite grandchild because you are the youngest and they see their children in your reflection

You receive more joy from a cartwheel and a temporary tattoo than I knew possible

You remind me to be less materialistic 

In a way, a selfish way, I want you to stay just the same because I think

I think you just may be the smartest person I know

You are not too old to wade in the shallow end 

Or to ask for help opening a bottle of water

You don’t know that bottle will outlive your cat and if anyone tells you I’ll cover it with a lie 

I’m selfish in wanting your sunlit heart to never doubt, never die

I’ll laugh at every joke and we’ll fly until my arms are numb

And when you cry, you’re never alone, and you never will be if in my mind, you’re just a baby

It doesn’t mean you’re naive or that I’ll ever ignore you

It might be the opposite, I’ll only envy you

After today, my love

I swore the sun comes up so early on these summer days just to greet you