Via: Cry It Out
Posted February 5th, 2013
“Emme up,” she grumbles and sighs, “Emme up, Emme up.”
She grunts and rolls her face against the tiny mattress until finally she reveals a crumpled nose. She smashes the back of her hand against it.
“Emme up,” she grumbles again.
She stretches out her wrinkled, chubby arms, and I lift her from the crib. Her hands crawl behind my neck and squeeze. Her cheeks, as hot as stars, burn against my neck.
It’s late afternoon and we sit in her darkened room, the rest of the world blocked out by heavy window shades. I watch for a moment as she rubs her nose and then her eyes and yawns so wide it’s as if she is inhaling the universe.
We read for a bit, flipping through some now-forgotten text about hippos who enjoy raves and mathematics.
“Another?” I ask.
She yawns again. Rubs the back of her hand against her mouth.
“Emme knew daddy would be back.”
“I’ll always come back.”
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