Fatherhood

  It is 2 a.m.

Our feet hit the floor

We think we just can’t do this anymore

    we try to open our eyes

While a child’s cry

    disturbs the night

What can it be, now?

  Through the years

    we have awoken to

  Monsters under a bed

  Upset tummies and achy heads

  Late night feedings

            And just random eyes at the side of our bed

2 a.m. has seen us

  cleaning carpets

  shining flashlights

            While they watch with frighten eyes

  tiptoeing out of a room

    only to hear our child cry

     as we sigh to return

             to sway them back to sleep

   praying we make it past the threshold

            tiptoeing again

We, as fathers, set the home right

  checked locked doors

  Nightlights switched

  Closet lights off

And we see the clock move to morning

   so we debate

   If we should just brew the coffee

     to start our day

We know moms make the world a better place

  With hugs and kisses

But in the darkest hours

It is in our arms they feel the safest

This poem was inspired by Tim Berndt and I tweeting early this morning as we were dealing with sick kids.