How patience is sexy

he told me once how he used to hunker down, ashamed by height and breadth--til the day he held his firstborn and knew his shoulders were meant for this all along.
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today he held connor, the one i'd pushed away several times because of the boy whirl-wind and impish antics. the one who trampled nerves already frayed and mamamamamama'd the ears overstimulated.
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connor says, "i love you," and i say, "i love you, too, baby," but does he hear without hands?

and daddy just picks him up, full of patience. patience despite all the traits, antics, touch, noise that undoes me.
i fall in love with my green-eyed man holding my blue-eyed boy. this man is patient with me, too, filling in the gaps where i am short, hunkered down in selfish "i can't do this anymore!"

so that when house is quiet (ok, it's not all that quiet, connor's wheezy breathing snoring through walls and pele's collar clanking with itching dream twitches and the muted honking din of city streets)
we collide in grace, parents holding our babies' hearts, lovers holding each others' hands.