On Firsts

the nurse tells me every baby loses weight after birth

which seems unfair considering how recently she learned

to have any weight at all i write down the ounces

on the back of an envelope covered

with feeding times every two to three hours the house

has become a place for keeping track of things

wet diapers hours since she ate breaths

i can count before i convince myself she has stopped

breathing i put two fingers under her nose at 2:00

my husband says she’s fine i say i know then do it

again no one tells you how much of having a baby

is checking whether the baby is still there

the hospital sent us home with a bulb syringe

three pamphlets & a person we had known

for forty-eight hours the car seat looked enormous

around her the first red light i turned around

to see if her chest was moving the man behind us

honked somewhere there are people having mornings

buying coffee forgetting passwords standing

in line at the bank i have not slept long enough

to dream in six days my mother texts enjoy every minute

i am crying because i dropped a pacifier

on the kitchen floor the dog licks milk from my wrist

before i notice it there are cabbage leaves in my bra

because a website said this helps there is blood

somewhere every time i go to the bathroom

which the discharge papers called normal normal

has gotten very ambitious lately the baby opens

her eyes & looks past my face toward the ceiling

fan turning above us i have never been less important

or more necessary in my life outside the garbage truck

lifts our bin shakes it twice puts it back

the men come every tuesday they do not know

someone lives here i want to run outside

& tell them the baby has wrapped her hand

around one of my fingers & for once i just stay still