Baby girl arches a drowsy head from
mommy’s shoulder; pulling open
eyes, she points to a pink balloon and
chimes, “chumblum.” I’d been stupid to
the chaos of birthdays, the
cacophony which explodes from
hearts and lungs
of two year
old boys, until two hours prior, when I
carried her curled to my
hip, approaching Tate’s big
bash. My daughter, fourteen months, reserved, shot
mini brown
irises
into mine. Baby girls emote with
their eyes—hers
screamed, “Daddy! What’re you doing to me?!”
Witnessing the youngest partier (only girl) hesitate
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