I sigh and squat down to her height. I pull her onto my lap and kiss her head. “You know, Mommy isn’t going to be too happy about this.”
“We clean it.”
“You want to help me clean it?”
Aaliyah nods, grinning, just before her yellow painted hands smack onto my cheeks. I flinch, surprised, but my daughter just laughs at me, raspy and breathless. “Daddy’s yellow!”
I laugh. “I can make you yellow too.”
I widen my eyes and inch closer slowly to build up the suspense before I blow raspberries into her neck, tickling her with my stubble. A baby laughing is beautiful and contagious.Butmybaby? A symphony better than what any orchestra can compose.
“Help, help!”
I pull back and her cheeks are covered in paint too. “Now we’re both yellow.”
I release her and she plops herself back down in front of her paints, dipping her hands into blue. She looks up at me with a mischievous gleam in her eyes and I stand. “Oh no! Are you coming to get me?”
Aaliyah stands again, looking like the most perfect angel in denim overalls and her hair in pigtails as she holds out her blue hands. I make a run for it and her little legs keep up as I take her through the house.
“I’m gon’ get you, Daddy!”
I laugh and we end up back where she was working on her paintings and I feign tripping over myself. “Oh no! Daddy’s down! Help!”
Aaliyah giggles and body slams me, her hands on my cheeks leaving blue prints on top of the yellow ones. “I got you!”
A throat clears. “What is this? I go to the bathroom for one minute…”
My eyes widen and Aaliyah’s do too. “Oh no, it’s Mommy,” my daughter whispers.
I put a finger over my lips. “Shh, maybe she can’t see us.”
The mother of my children and my wife chuckles. “Oh I can see both of you.”
Aaliyah gasps. “Hide!”
“I’ve got you.” I wrap my arms around her and keep her tucked in my chest as I turn us onto my side. “I’m gonna protect you.”
Lana laughs and I glance over my shoulder to find myextremely pregnant wife with her arms crossed over her chest, laughing. “Christian, have you seen Aaliyah?”
Our daughter laughs and when I look down at her, I tell her, “Shhhh.” Looking back at Lana, I say, “Nope. Haven’t seen her.”
“Hmm.” Lana waddles over to the stained stained glass of the back doors. “Seems we have a yellow ghost in the house.”
“Do we?” I ask my wife, and she gives me an amused look. “Huh…”
Aaliyah giggles, her blue hands printed all over my white t-shirt, before she shoots up onto her little feet. “It’s me!”
Lana gasps and our daughter runs toward her, holding out her paint covered hands. “Oh my god, it’s the ghost!”
Aaliyah laughs, dimples out, and it’s the cutest, raspy sound with heavy breaths and snorts. Thecutestbaby laugh. I watch Aaliyah chase her mother who’s moving slowly on her swollen feet, wincing, and I stand.
My white t-shirt is covered in tiny hand prints and I can’t wait to wear it outside and tell people my daughter made it. It’s an Aaliyah Marie Calloway-Gomez original. One of a kind.
Lana comes into the bright and expansive seating room space, cringing but smiling, with Aaliyah on her tail. She shoots me a look. “You’re cleaning the paint.”
I huff a laugh and sit on the L-shaped sofa. “I already planned on it,” I tell her. “Come here, baby.”
“Mommy!” Aaliyah freezes with her hands up, gaping as Lana sits back and I put her legs across my thighs. Our daughter frowns. “What happened? Did you get a boo-boo?”
