“Okay girls, hop into bed!” I called. “Lights out.”
“Don’t forget Twinkle, Twinkle,” Gwen sings with an upward lilt.
As if I ever would.
This is our nightly ritual after all. The same ritual we have performed since the first night she spent in her crib. That night when we clipped one of the strings that tied her so tightly to us – the first of many strings. Her chubby body, all warm from a bath filled my arms, and I pressed my cheek against her tiny face. That night, I began our song and we’ve been singing it nearly every night since. Nearly four and a half years of singing our special night-time prayer. The song that I whisper into her ear to tell her that she’s loved.
Sometimes she joins me, our voices weave together and linger in the air over her sweet pink bed before I kiss her goodnight.
I remembered this as I knelt at her bedside, pressed my cheek to hers and begin to whisper-sing the song.
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, How I wonder wha….
She pulled away, nose all wrinkled in revulsion, “Your breath smiles like cheese.”
“Oh, sorry,” I apologized. “I just ate some white cheddar Cheez-Its.”
“It stinks,” She declared. “You can skip Twinkle, Twinkle tonight. No…wait. Sing it but just stand over there by Kate’s bed and then you can go.”
Mouthwash…it’s a good thing. Click the blinking brown box if you agree.