NINE

My son asks me
If I would have loved
The other babies
As much as him
He has learned
That most of the spermies
Don't get to be babies
I think he wants to make sure
I love him more
Than I would have loved those virtual siblings
But he also wants
To be sure
That if he were born one of the other ones, by chance
I would have loved him
Just as much
"I won the race."
"Yes honey you did."
I pet his hair
Phantom sibling rivalry
Is complicated
He feels terribly guilty
That those other babies
Never had a chance at life
At having a mommy
To ask these questions
He bears the burden
On his nine-year-old forehead
As if he had axe-murdered
Each one himself
What if some of them
Would have been better boys
Deserved life more
Wouldn't have stolen from Wal-Mart
He knows that it is only the "daddy" part
That would have changed
He's not thinking yet
About other ovulations
Which part of me is the mommy part?
And which part is the daddy part?
This 'other babies' issue recurs
Throughout his childhood
At twenty, of course
He is a biochem major