when i wear a braid

tiny fingers touch
my neck. "wow, beautiful,
oh my word," she says.

fight or flight

"wow wow wow" she says
in a giant exhale. "oh
my word.  wonderful."

we are walking through
our neighborhood in the
dark for the first time,

and she is amazed.
i remember when i felt
that same vertigo,

the height and mass of
the city nearly sucked me
in as i looked up --

her father saw my
panic and said, "don't worry,
it's like a big hug."

she knows.

i am frustrated.
our cat has been howling for
forty five minutes.

not sweet little mews
but full-blown MROOOOOOWs that echo
down the hall, through the

baby monitor --
insanity in stereo sound.
a sippy cup drops

and spills.  our dog barks
and paces.  our other cat
chirps, demanding food.

the sonic clutter
is closing in around me.
then from far away,

a tiny voice says,
"bonjour mama. how are you?"
it's a warm blanket;

empathy that she
doesn't even understand.
"all better.  Thank you."

Two.

I have 2 more days 

with my baby.  2 more days

because the experts

decided seven-

hundred-thirty-one days is

long enough for her

to be so young.  And 

I would keep her this way,

milky-breathed and soft,

were it not for my

curiosity about

what she'll grow to be.