Fighting it

Trying to put Alya to bed. She is tired. But her body won’t give in. Stretch, wiggle, kick, turn, head rub into me, eye rub, arms flail, back arch, and start all over. This side, that side, on and on. I rock her, sing, rub her back, but she’s not having any of it.
Finally – having let go of several rounds of frustration – I stand her up, look at her, and ask her with love and concern, what is wrong, Alya? What do you need?

She stands on my thighs, sleepy eyed, still wriggling, hands going back to the eyes to rub, but she looks at me. Then she comes in for another snuggle on my chest and this time she settles into just the right position. Cheek to my chest, arms out, finally relaxing and breathing. I rock and croon, rub and soothe, and she settles in. After a few final wriggles her body relaxes, her breathing steadies, and she is asleep.

Sweetest thing! Lovely daughter! Beloved little girl!

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