I admit it tugged my heart
that you were so young,
but it wasn't love then.
It was special to me, though.
I was a poor college student,
nothing impressive, walking into
a little cafe and ka-whoomp!
Your little daughter came out
of nowhere and hugged my
legs. You came trotting after,
chided her for embarrassing
complete strangers. I said
that there was no need to stay
strangers, and that your sister
hadn't embarrassed me at all.
You flushed a mad crimson,
mumbled she wasn't your sister.
I took the hint and moved to
safer ground. And you smiled,
we sat down, and we talked,
and I learned you were moving
into the apartment above mine.
Somehow, your sweet daughter
wound up in my lap, proclaiming
her name to be Lilah, her age four.
I ended up feeding her my
french fries, to your chagrin,
but to our delight. I didn't think
we'd be more than neighbors,
but I didn't expect her many
visits. Not that she bothered me!
I needed the cheering, mopey
freshman that I was. Nor did
I mind being around a cute girl
around my own age. Of course,
I wasn't "interested" like that.
No boy (still a teenager, then!)
would want to date a mother,
however young. Hard, but true.
So it took quite a while to admit
to myself that both your faces
were the dearest things to me
in life. You didn't notice, I thought.
I had a hard time of it when you
started asking me to babysit Lilah
during your dates, but I suppose
you were just tired of waiting for me.
I did ask eventually, and we did
get time alone somehow. Today,
we both know we love each other.
You'll protest about "early burdens"
and such, but I want to marry you.
I can't imagine anything happier
than being your husband and Lil's
father, and I think you know it.
I never wanted to be one of those
who spends their twenties playing.
I'd just be lonely, like I was before.
Please--I want you to be my own family.

