Nobody Talks About It
How you go from sweetheart,
My love, Adigun even,
Odogwu, my baby—
to being led by the hand
of a tiny creature with no experience.
You manage
funds, firms, staff:
CEO, director, accountant—
but now,
instead of boardrooms and Zoom calls,
you are changing wet diapers before traffic.
No more football with the boys,
you hold up Mum and baby,
with your heart
and hands.
Does anyone see–
you?
No one prepares you
for the weight
of this new person
anchoring you.
Eyes watching, waiting,
learning,
as you beat your feet like drums
while you sing hallelujah.
Small hands—
pulling, poking your beard
as you read
a bedtime story.
A scream: No,
not you—
Mama instead.
You wonder—
is postpartum only female?
Can men unravel too?
No one to tell
when you’re not okay,
so you pull on a smile,
wear your beard,
and cuddle your newborn.
How can someone so small
bring such a change?
You, backend builder,
figuring out software troubles,
can’t seem to soothe
a fussy baby.
You, engineer,
sucking snot without shame.
You, mathematician,
solving for x and prime numbers—
but this equation
eludes you, dares you
to make a mistake,
brings you to your knees—
again, and again.
Is this love?
Complex yet plain?
The Greeks have eight words for it—
you understand why.
Now you know:
I love you is more than words on your lips.
It’s holding space.
It’s showing up tired.
It is rocking your baby at 2 a.m.,
singing till one of you
falls asleep.
