Mommy Finger, Mommy Finger,
Where are you?
Here I am, here I am.
How do you do?”
Threse who is three, sings this song from Baby TV, over and over. She half-sings and half-cries herself to sleep because she is forced to; she doesn’t want to. It’s way past her bedtime, but she still wants to play.
I keep telling her, “Go to sleep!” but she devices ways to look and appear preoccupied with something. Threse sings more; then cries more – faking it, so I would relent and let her play.
But mothers know best…
Threse jumps up and down, up and down the bed – taxing the strength of each coiled spring inside the mattress.
“A-jumping, a-jumping…” she chants. I grip her by the wrist and haul her down almost too forcefully, to a lying position. Yet she manages to cling to my body and place her cheek on my shoulder.
“I love you, too, mama. I love you, too,” she mutters.
I had to give my scolding a rest.