Bouncing 

Poems and Things

It’s that moment sitting there on the couch when I’m bouncing my baby up and down till my backside’s muscles hurt. 

She’ll start to squirm and fuss so I’ll bounce again although I’m getting sore wishing I was not bouncing anymore.

It’s the boredom of sitting there bouncing- not doing anything else, the breeze waddling through the open patio door.

And then I stop moving and realize she must have fallen asleep. I hear the cars driving outside and realize I don’t really want to drive anywhere. 

I sat there and held her while I listened to the cars and the neighbor’s AC discovering for the 20th time today how much I love her. And it really doesn’t get much simpler than that.

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