Pardon me for being callous. I read hardly any of your poems or articles these days. My granddaughter is home, with her mother and grandmother from Scotland. I am in a different orbit.
She is all smiles all the time, except when she is sleepy, or in lip-smacking mood for milk. She likes you speak to her little nothings and responds expressively, making noises that are most appropriate.
It is not as though you spend all your time with her. God fills you to the brim and you have no more space for poetry.