When my daughter (now nine) was around four or five years old, every once in a while she would enter a special kind of state of mind that we fondly referred to as “drunk college roommate.”
99% of the time “drunk college roommate” showed up at bedtime, primarily when it was time to put pajamas on. It would start innocently enough with her telling a little silly joke and then proceeding to laugh so hard that she could fall down, in various stages of pajama undress. Then she would attempt to stand up and steady herself and get all serious, stare deep into my eyes and while patting down both sides of my hair with her tiny hands say things like, “Momma…you’re sooooo pretty.” (All of this, of course, with only one leg of her pajamas on.)
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