Russell Smith 
I am out, on foot, walking briskly to meet my baby son and his mother. They are in a bar on Queen Street West. She has been at a party and she has been carrying him in a sling. I have to meet them with the stroller, and we will … Read More
People warned me, before the birth, of the immense love for my progeny that would envelop me. They said you won’t ever have experienced any love like it, you’ll see. And, they warned me, you’ll become crazy protective; you will make any sacrifice when your child is ill or in … Read More
My apartment is now one of those apartments. The baby apartment. I always swore it wouldn’t happen. But there is crap everywhere: a bassinet and a rocking chair in the living room, a springy jumper thing hanging from the door frame, blankets and puke-crusted washcloths on every surface, and something … Read More
That night we both went to bed at 9:30. We slept well, together, two guys in a bed, with groggy breaks every couple of hours for peaceful feedings and rockings. I awoke in sunlight with him looking at me with huge wide chestnut eyes (his mother’s eyes) and a shy … Read More
Some kind friends with two kids of their own have offered to take the baby off my hands for three hours on Saturday afternoon. I am looking forward to this as an inmate might look forward to his walk in the yard. But when I drop him off I am … Read More
