I tuck her in, kiss her hair, and whisper, "night night. Love you. See you in the morning."
She's quiet, hugging her bear and snuggling her blanket.
About 5 minutes after I leave her room, I hear, "mommy, I need go potty." Once every 30 seconds or so, with increasing forcefulness.
She doesn't need to go potty. We both know this, but it's easier to indulge her little ritual than to dig in my heels. I go in, and wordlessly lift her sleepy body out of her bed and into my arms. I carry her soft, warm 3 year old heft to the door, careful to open and close it quietly so as not to disturb her sister. I'm aware of how far down my leg her foot reaches - she's getting so big. Her head is on my shoulder.
She lets me set her on the potty and sit there with her, waiting. Our foreheads are touching. After a while, when she doesn't pee, I gently lift her up, dress her and carry her back to bed. She snuggles under her blanket in the blue night-light, breathes a satisfied sigh, and drifts off to sleep.
The innocence of sleeping children
Dressed in white and slowly dreaming
Stops all time
-the cure, "primary"
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