HomeLife,  Piper Finn Willow

probably too late.

Most nights my eight-year-old shares the bed with me.  (I know what we all think about this.  But only one child sharing the bed is a vast improvement over this time last year, when all five were sharing the same square footage.  She’ll transition to her own bed permanently eventually I feel almost certain.)

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At any rate, there she was, lying in bed and watching me through the open door at the bathroom sink.

I was looking in the mirror, applying night cream to my face.

“Oh, are you still trying to put cream on Mommy?” she asked, her voice all sweet and interested.

“Yes.  I am.  What do you mean, still trying?” I inquired.

“Oh – it just might be too late I think,” Piper said.

I thought of what time of night it was.  It wasn’t an unusually late evening.

“Too late?” I responded.

“Well,” she said.  “It might be too late to work. You already have so many wrinkles.”

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