love you in rhythms
I love you in rhymes
I love you in laughter
Here and ever after
Then I love you a million
Gazillion more times!
I think I could come up with dozens of Nicky nursery rhymes if I tried. They just come to me when you do something silly,
or smile, or even when you sleep. What can I say? You inspire poetry.
Matt loves them, too. And coming from him, it’s a real compliment. Make no mistake about it, your daddy is definitely the
writer in this family. But I still love writing these little love poems to you.
Yikes, here comes one now!
You’re my little Nicky Knack
I love you so, you love me back.
I love your toes, your knees, your nose,
And everywhere a big kiss goes.
I kiss you tons, and know what then?
I have to kiss you once again.
Okay, little man, I have to go now. My next patient is here already. If she knew what I was doing behind closed doors in my
office, the poor woman would flee to the free clinic in Edgartown.
I thought I’d ease into work with a half day, just to get used to the routine again. But ever since I arrived this morning,
all I wanted to do was look at your pictures and write silly poems.
Anyone peeking in at me would think I was in love.
I am.
Nicky, it’s me again—
I heard you crying tonight and got up to see what was the matter. You looked up at me with such sad little eyes. Your eyes
are so blue, and always so expressive.
I looked to see if you needed changing—but it wasn’t that. Then I checked to see if you were hungry—but it wasn’t that, either.
So I lifted you up and sat with you in the rocker next to your crib.
Back and forth we went, back and forth, in a rhythm about double the rush of the ocean surf.
Your eyes started slowly closing, and your tears dissolved into sweet dreams. I placed you back in your crib and watched your
heart-shaped bottom rising in the air. Then I turned you over on your back and watched your little tummy rise and fall.
I think all you wanted was a little company. Could you really just have wanted to be rocked and held and talked to?
I’m here, sweetie. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be right here.
“What are you doing, Suzie?” Matt whispered. I hadn’t heard him come into the nursery. Daddy can be as quiet as a cat.
“Nick couldn’t sleep.”
Matt looked into the crib and saw your tiny hand clenched to your mouth like a teething ring.
“God, he’s beautiful,” Matt whispered. “I mean it—he is gorgeous.”
I looked down at you. There wasn’t an inch of you that didn’t make my heart leap.
Matt put his arms around my waist. “Want to dance, Mrs. Harrison?” He hadn’t called me that since our wedding day. My heart
fluttered like a sparrow’s in a birdbath.
“I think they’re playing our song.”
And to the high, plucky notes that came squeaking out of your music box, Matt and I danced round and round in your nursery
that night. Past the stuffed animals, past Mother Goose and your homemade rocking horse, past the stars and the moon that
float from your homemade mobile. We danced slowly and lovingly in the low light of your tiny cocoon.
When the music finally wound down to its final note, Matt kissed me and said, “Thank you, Suzanne. Thank you for this night,
this dance, and most of all for this little boy. My whole world is right here, in this room. If I never had another thing,
I would have everything.”
And then strangely—magically —as if your music box were just taking a rest, it played one more sweet refrain.
Nick,
Melanie Bone came over to baby-sit while I went to work. Full day, full load. Melanie’s kids were in Maine with her mother
for a week, so she gave Grandma Jean a breather. It feels strange to leave you for this long, and I can’t stop thinking about
what you’re doing now.
And
now.
And
now.
The last time I felt this tired, I was working my butt off at Mass. General in Boston. Maybe it’s because
I love you in rhymes
I love you in laughter
Here and ever after
Then I love you a million
Gazillion more times!
I think I could come up with dozens of Nicky nursery rhymes if I tried. They just come to me when you do something silly,
or smile, or even when you sleep. What can I say? You inspire poetry.
Matt loves them, too. And coming from him, it’s a real compliment. Make no mistake about it, your daddy is definitely the
writer in this family. But I still love writing these little love poems to you.
Yikes, here comes one now!
You’re my little Nicky Knack
I love you so, you love me back.
I love your toes, your knees, your nose,
And everywhere a big kiss goes.
I kiss you tons, and know what then?
I have to kiss you once again.
Okay, little man, I have to go now. My next patient is here already. If she knew what I was doing behind closed doors in my
office, the poor woman would flee to the free clinic in Edgartown.
I thought I’d ease into work with a half day, just to get used to the routine again. But ever since I arrived this morning,
all I wanted to do was look at your pictures and write silly poems.
Anyone peeking in at me would think I was in love.
I am.
Nicky, it’s me again—
I heard you crying tonight and got up to see what was the matter. You looked up at me with such sad little eyes. Your eyes
are so blue, and always so expressive.
I looked to see if you needed changing—but it wasn’t that. Then I checked to see if you were hungry—but it wasn’t that, either.
So I lifted you up and sat with you in the rocker next to your crib.
Back and forth we went, back and forth, in a rhythm about double the rush of the ocean surf.
Your eyes started slowly closing, and your tears dissolved into sweet dreams. I placed you back in your crib and watched your
heart-shaped bottom rising in the air. Then I turned you over on your back and watched your little tummy rise and fall.
I think all you wanted was a little company. Could you really just have wanted to be rocked and held and talked to?
I’m here, sweetie. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always be right here.
“What are you doing, Suzie?” Matt whispered. I hadn’t heard him come into the nursery. Daddy can be as quiet as a cat.
“Nick couldn’t sleep.”
Matt looked into the crib and saw your tiny hand clenched to your mouth like a teething ring.
“God, he’s beautiful,” Matt whispered. “I mean it—he is gorgeous.”
I looked down at you. There wasn’t an inch of you that didn’t make my heart leap.
Matt put his arms around my waist. “Want to dance, Mrs. Harrison?” He hadn’t called me that since our wedding day. My heart
fluttered like a sparrow’s in a birdbath.
“I think they’re playing our song.”
And to the high, plucky notes that came squeaking out of your music box, Matt and I danced round and round in your nursery
that night. Past the stuffed animals, past Mother Goose and your homemade rocking horse, past the stars and the moon that
float from your homemade mobile. We danced slowly and lovingly in the low light of your tiny cocoon.
When the music finally wound down to its final note, Matt kissed me and said, “Thank you, Suzanne. Thank you for this night,
this dance, and most of all for this little boy. My whole world is right here, in this room. If I never had another thing,
I would have everything.”
And then strangely—magically —as if your music box were just taking a rest, it played one more sweet refrain.
Nick,
Melanie Bone came over to baby-sit while I went to work. Full day, full load. Melanie’s kids were in Maine with her mother
for a week, so she gave Grandma Jean a breather. It feels strange to leave you for this long, and I can’t stop thinking about
what you’re doing now.
And
now.
And
now.
The last time I felt this tired, I was working my butt off at Mass. General in Boston. Maybe it’s because
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