I know it may sound odd to you, but as a former writing teacher and lover of literature, I often make up poems. Here's one I wrote in my head when I was feeding Kate in the dark the other morning. I was thinking about how much I'm looking forward to finally staying home with Kate full-time, and how in just a few months it will have felt like a long time ago that I started staying home. Does that make any sense? In the dark, I felt for the pad and pen I knew were handy and scrawled my words, not knowing if it was even legible. It was. Here's my poem...

Isn't it strange

how time

sneaks up on you

then flies away?

The moments we

dread/anticipate

tiptoe up behind us

then

seem like

forever ago,

fleeing as

distant memories.