Your Daughter's Tall

I took Miss M to her pediatrician yesterday for a physical. Before we got to the doctor's office, I asked whether she still wanted me in the room or would prefer some privacy with her doctor. She definitely still wanted me there. That'll change soon, no doubt. She's grown unbeliveably and like her father, is very tall.

Which reminded me of this poem:

A Little Tooth
by Thomas Lux

Your baby grows a tooth, then two,
and four, and five, then she wants some meat
directly from the bone. It's all

over; she'll learn some words, she'll fall
in love with cretins, dolts, a sweet
talker on his way to jail. And you,

your wife, get old, flyblown, and rue
nothing. You did, you loved, your feet
are sore. It's dusk. Your daughter's tall.