It's just me. Again.

Should we go back in? She's calling. Your blanket needs to be fixed? I don't want her to be cold. Night 1: Open door. Fix. Adjust. Kiss. She sleeps. Night 2: Repeat. She sleeps. Night 3. Repeat. She sleeps. Lament. This isn't working for me. Night 3: "No! Fix them yourself!" * Weeping and gnashing of teeth * She sleeps. Night 4: Anticipating the inevitable, we say lovely things. "I don't care if your blanket is across the room, I'm not coming in here to fix it." She sleeps. Should we go back in? She's calling. You need a glass of water? I don't want you to get dehydrated. You've been a little sick lately. Night 1: Bring in glass of water. Kiss. She sleeps. Night 2: This time she comes out for a glass. Kiss. Tuck her back in. She sleeps. Night 3: "I don't care if you're thirsty - GO TO SLEEP!" Night 4: Anticipating the inevitable, we say lovely things. "Unless you're choking and about to die, ...

Sentimental. Overwhelming. Fall on your knees ... Childhood comforts replace adult anxieties. Our troubles will be out of sight ... Every feeling of "family" swells.  You can count on me ... The electric guitar hugs me. The hopes and fears of all the years ... Narrates my heart. The weary world rejoices ... Drums beat. Beat. Beating. I have no gift to bring ... This is every song ever to be sung about Christmas.