All Is Right

For about a minute late this afternoon, I thought I was on the verge of gaining some kind of cosmic equilibrium as a father. Dinner was on the stovetop, nearly finished. I was strumming a Beatles song on my guitar, relearning the words and chord progression from a website. Baby was dancing. It was good. Then I heard muffled sobs from the living room. I looked up and baby was sitting in front of a family album crying and pointing down to one particular picture. When I neared, asking what was the matter, she pointed down to a group shot of her parents and her mom's side of the family at our wedding. Specifically, she was pointing at her mom, who was later than usual getting home from work; baby was evidently feeling her absence more with each passing second. I scooped her up, turned off the stove, put baby's pink soft-bottomed cowboy boots over her red socks, and took her outside for a minor neighborhood exploration before mom's arrival. Even before Mom's car pulled up to the curb all was right in the heavens once more.