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Can I have your hand

Posted on December 9, 2012

She asks me each night with an impish grin, “Mama, can I have your hand?” It’s part and parcel of bedtime, this game of gentle tug of war. “Just let me hold your hand, but you’ll be too tired to pull, so you’ll sleep here.” Her eyes shine, big and bright and as perfect as they were in those early weeks of hours spent gazing at her . She quivers with an implicit, “C’mon, mom.” I say ok. Holding hands, I lean toward the door, she makes campy moves to fall out of bed, I swing toward the bed, back and forth we go until I stop. “I’m too tired. I. Need. To. Sleep,” and I collapse (delicately) over her. I feign magnificent snoring and…

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