What happens after you read that DADA book?

I spent my childhood

dreaming of you.

What you would look like,

all the things we could do.

Your first word was Dada.

I took a test

and saw the blue line.

Together we heard

your heart beat the first time.

Your first word was Dada.

I spent all day sick,

wanting to hurl.

I cried tears of joy

when the paper read GIRL.

Your first word was Dada.

I felt you kick

and move inside me.

I spent every twenty minutes

needing to pee.

Your first word was Dada.

I ate chocolate cake

and your brothers candy stash.

I spent all day clawing

at my itchy PUPPS rash.

Your first word was Dada.

I labored for hours,

we met on push four.

I had no epidural.

I sweat and I swore.

Your first word was Dada.

I was up every night,

drank coffee all day.

I lost So. Much. Hair.

And the rest was soon gray.

Your first word was Dada.

I exclusively nursed

for eleven months.

You refused all bottles.

Took a few ounces once.

Your first word was Dada.

I cooked your food, you refused.

So more food I would fix.

I had mastitis.

Not one time but six.

Your first word was Dada.

I read books, taught sign language,

and played peekaboo.

I changed diapers, rocked to sleep,

and sang songs to you.

Your first word was Dada.

My sweet little girl, don’t you see?

Your first word was Dada,

when it should’ve been me.

But when you look at him,

and he looks at you,

I know there is nothing

I could’ve done or will do.

You see, he is your measure

against all men.

The one to look up to,

he’ll love ‘til the end.

And even though

you didn’t first say my name,

You are my heart

and I’ll love you the same.

So keep saying Dada,

my sweet little girl.

Because to your Dada,

you are the world.

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