I bought your book years ago,
all 400 pages of it.
The Only Baby Book You’ll Ever Need.
You had me at the title.
A one-stop resource.
A new parent’s guide to everything.
It was so comforting,
every possible concern neatly indexed
alphabetically at the back,
a chapter-by-chapter guide
to solving all my baby’s problems.
But where’s the sequel?
You helped me with diaper rash,
swaddling and teething.
We potty trained without much trouble,
and I give you a lot of the credit.
But who advised you
that parents of school-age children
have it all figured out?
You dedicated seven pages to gas bubbles
but I can’t massage away
this pain of losing his best friend,
I can’t burp him and make this knot
of sadness disappear.
I assure you there’s a market
for a follow-up,
for chapters on self-esteem
screen time
and slamming doors.
Even if the answer
on every page
is to empathize and then
let them go,
these days I just need
the comfort of a guide,
a giant book
a bold promise
that this is how
it’s done.