Preschooler: I want to be a baby and nurse and always sleep with you. I want to do everything the baby does except get shots.
Me: But if you were a baby, you would have to get some shots. You’d also have to sleep about 20 hours a day. So tomorrow – if you want – you can pretend you’re a baby and sleep all day and miss out on all the fun things 4-year-olds get to do and not pet Moose [a puppy we’re going to see tomorrow].
Preschooler who sees sleep as cruel and unusual punishment, adores dogs, and suddenly seems much happier NOT being a baby: All babies do is eat, poop, pee, sleep, and sleep more. They can’t eat ice cream or open closets.
Me, wondering since when opening closet doors has become such a privilege: Good night, my love.
Preschooler: Wait. Let me say good night to that baby.
She gently kisses her baby sister.
Me: And just think, someday M.E. will be a big sister who wants to be a baby again and sleep with me.
Preschooler: She can come sleep with me then.
After a few more words are exchanged, my big girl goes to sleep all on her own, not even knowing that she’ll always be my baby.