We Girls

It's the end of a very long day. I'm wrapping up a bedtime tuck-in with Lil' Miss when she pleads, "Mom, you yay down wiff me for a yiddow bit?"

"Okay, honey. For a minute." I scooch her over and lay down beside her. She has my neck in a choke-hug and is gently kissing my forehead the way she always does, the way that makes me feel like I'm the little girl and she's the mommy. I lean over and whisper, "I love you, my girl. Do you know you're my special girl?"

"Yeah. Mom? Are we girls, you and me?"

"Yeah."

"And Daddy and Baby Dude are boys?"

"Yeah."

"And you and me and Madie and Ella are girls?"

"Mmhmm..."

"And Daddy and Baby Dude and Andy and John and Larry are boys?"

"Mmhmmm."

"And you and me and Madie and Ella and Travis, no, not Travis, and Keeli and Mrs. B are girls?"

"Yep."

And Daddy and Baby Dude and Travis and Trevor and John Paul are boys?

"Uh-huh."

"Oh... Mom! Why don't YOU try? YOU say all the boys and girls in the whole world!"

"Hmmm, that's a tough one, Sweet Pea. No can do."

As I try a bedtime departure, she wraps her octopus tentacles around my body and cries, "No, Mommy! Don't leave! You CAN do it! I promise!"

She actually thinks this self-esteem building is going to work on me, and, in fact, it does. I lay back down on the edge of her bed and now she's squeezing me so tightly that her arm muscles are quivering. In that moment, I wonder if she feels the same way I used to feel hugging my mom: like there couldn't possibly be a safer place in the whole world. I sure hope so.