What nobody tells you
when you walk out of the hospital
holding your first-born in your arms
and she is so bundled up against
the January wind that all you can see
is her nose and a grin has
exploded on your face, that you will
spend a significant part of the rest
of your days worrying about her,
even when she is thirty-six and
checking into the hospital for what
she assures you is "minor surgery"
and ends her phone call with
"Relax, Dad, I'll be fine."
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