"I want to lay on the floor."

Every time I sat down to write she would come out of her room.

She wanted more milk.  Or to take her diaper off.  Or to just fuss.

She was having nothing of sleep.  I know the feeling.

I've been in this strange frame of mind though.  Waking up on Sunday not wanting my kids there has been kind of a haunting feeling.  And now I feel like I'm mentally making up for it.  I can't get enough of them.  I'm all hugs and kisses and spending time with them.  And I can't get enough.  Like a drunk locked in a liquor store, I'm drinking them in.

So when I should be writing, I'm helping s. get back to sleep.  She doesn't want to lay in bed with me.  She just wants me to hold her.  So I ask, "Do you want me to put some music on."

"Yesh."

I tell her, "I'm going to lay you in bed for just a second while I turn the music on.  I'm not even going to leave the room OK baby."

"I don want to sheep in bed.  I want to lay on the floor."

So I move over to the computer and turn Hey Jude on, and she lays down on the floor right at my feet.  Looking up at me with her huge eyes.  She is sad.  I can see that in her face.  And it breaks me.  She closes those eyes, and I think that she is falling asleep.  So I try to start writing again.  One word, then two, maybe a total of 40, and those eyes open up again.

"Top Daddy."

"You don't want me to write, sweetie."

"No, hep me."

"Help you what s.?"

"No, hep me."  She sits up and holds her arms out.  "Want to watch a moobie."

"OK baby."

I cradle her in my arms like she is an infant and walk into the living room.  Turn on the TV and put Breathless on (a French film from the 60's).  And less than half way through she is asleep.  I take her into her room.  I lay her in bed.  She murmurs a little as I cover her with her Tinkerbell blanket but she doesn't wake.

I know that I should go and finish writing.  But all the energy has left me.

I lay down.

And finally restful sleep.

File Under Virtue.