She's sleeping, with her lips pursed just the way I did when I was tiny. I pick her up and she arches her back, stretching. Her hair stands straight out from the back of her head in little wisps that make my chest ache. I think of her brother, when he would finish nursing with a startled, scrunched face and disheveled hair, looking like vintage Jack Nicholson. That old joke about how we begin and end life in diapers. Reminders of mortality in small moments. I think maybe this is something like how she will look when she is old, and I realize with a pang that I won't live to see that. I hope whoever does will
see just how beautiful she is.