Markus Vs. the World

Sleepless Wonderings

Your hand is soft and warm, curling into my own. A small weight that rested in my palm. I marvel at your small fingers, so delicate and tiny. And I wonder how they'll look, come next spring, come next fall.

You open your eyes and dark brown stares back at me. It's shocking the resemblance that makes you mine. And I love the way they seem to wonder, to question me. Or is that just my imagination?

It all seems so unreal, the way you are, the fact that I helped make you. It's surreal.

Your breath is warm and sweet as it brushes against my hand as I trace your features. Your nose is small like your mothers, making you belong to her.

Your ears look big like mine, and they make me laugh. I know you’ll get trouble when you’re older. Your hair is the deep black of your mothers, soft under my fingers, almost downy.

 I hold you in the air, and watch you giggle. Your voice is joyful and your smile is large. It shows your gums and the two small teeth making their way out. I wonder if you have my smile. Or is it your mums? I can’t really tell.

Your hands open and shut in excitement as I bounce you in my arms, and I watch as you try and grab my shirt, my face.

Will you be a curious child, my love? Or a feisty wild one that runs in the mud and climbs the neighbour’s fences? Or will you be a dainty little princess that wears frills and bows? Will you be artsy like me, paint, take pictures and draw?

I wonder what you’ll be when you grow up. A doctor, a teacher, a mechanic? Will you like boys, or girls, or both? Will you get married and have kids?

Will you have boys or girls? Will you name your first son after me? Will you name your daughter after your mother?

I have all these questions, all these unanswered questions that time can only answer.

I wonder what time will tell.