Precious

I generally avoid the word,
Associating it, rightly, with the worst aspects
Of Victorian sentimentality.
It’s a word like saccharine,
And we all know that aspartame causes
Brain lesions.
Not to mention that most such children
Are also blonde, chubby, and cherubic,
Which not only runs into the issue of cliché
But also makes a mockery
Of the biblical cherubs, with their
Bull aspect, two faces, wings.

The boys, following their daily push-ups,
Did jumping jacks in sync.
Caleb watched these energetic exertions, and then,
With the happiest grin I have seen,
Clapped for his brothers.
This made him giggle, and giggle harder, until he was
Almost screaming with laughter.

This made all seven of us laugh.
Some did more jumping jacks.
He clapped for us all,
Chubby baby hands making a surprisingly loud slap,
With his golden curls as a soft halo.

How precious.

Am I annoyed that my thoughts reverted to
Cliché in the midst of exuberance?
A bit.

Perhaps, though, that is the right word
For a moment of such worth.