Those Lines

I should see it coming by now.  The way she draws me in and holds me close. And then drops me on my ass.  Last night Em told me she has been having trouble sleeping.  That she wakes from a bad dream and then she has trouble keeping her mind on her pleasant brain movies.  We talked for a while.

I was sitting on the floor next to her bed.  Leaning over to kiss her has become an Olympic event, as has climbing out of her bed over top of her, so it is easier if bedtime rituals take place with me on the floor, next to her bed, our faces right next to one another.  Nose to nose almost.

I said “I like to think about what Baby D is going to look like when I can’t sleep. Sometimes I think we will have a baby that looks just like dad.  And sometimes I think the baby will look just like you.”

She smiled.  “I hope the baby looks like you, Mommy.”  And she smiled some more.  The one that melts me.  This is when I should have kissed her good night and walked away.

“Well, if the baby looks like me, honey, he or she will look like you, since we look a lot alike.”

“But not exactly alike,” she says.  “I don’t have those lines.”

Perfect comedic timing.  She pauses.  “What?  What??  Well, I don’t.”

Jerk.