just one

Homegirl's working it. She's a wild lil actriz who knows exactly what she wants. In these pics she's kinda reminding me of Sarah Jessica Parker on, "Sex and the City." The tutu skirt and ultra-hip E tank (have I mentioned lately my talented friends?) certainly help fit the bill, but there's something in her personality this weekend too. If it weren't for the snot rockets, I think she could totally pull it off.

As I mentioned, she's working it. She is all over the place, all the time, doing things her way. Our latest source of manipulation involves reading at bedtime. I seem to be reading Eliana, no joke, close to twenty books. When I say, "Last one, Eliana" she looks at me coyly and says, "Last one!" Of course, upon book completion when I attempt to lift her into her crib she says, "Just one? Just one. Last one," like she totally gets it and is reasonable and understands the deal. With nothing but decorum she says, "Hop on Pop." A statement. A statement that says, yes, we'll read 'just one' more, and it will be hop on pop, and I swear, that's it.

And, like the total ninny I am, I fall for it.

And I know I'm falling for it. I know she's full of tacos and blowing smoke all over our rocker. I just can't help but smile at how cool she is about the whole thing. So smart and in charge.

But then I have to deal with the aftermath.

"Eliana, that's the LAST one. Last one."
"Just one??? Last one (big smile, super cute shrug of shoulders)."
"Eliana, it's time for bed."
"Just one?"

With my last deep breath of the day, I pick her up and put her in her crib. Screams.
"Just one! Animal ABC! Just one! Goodnight moon!" More screams. Thrashing of perfect body.

She's still thrashing as I close the door. "Just one!" rining through our little house.

She's been in there now for half an hour, chatting away. I feel sorta like a lameass for not being in there with her and, instead, writing about her on the computer. But boundaries have never been my thing.

Jeff asks why it's so hard for me to tell her no. It's not that telling her no is the problem. If she's trying to walk across the kitchen table, no is easy. Throwing rice on to the floor right after I've swept rice up the floor? No. No problem. Firm and sincere and just a hair pissy, as it should be.

But when she wants to be read to. And held. And sung to? It's that savored moments thing. It's being right there with me, loving every second of it, not wanting it to end. And I'm feeling the same way because I'm just as sappy and lovestruck as she is. She's got me all twisted up inside with those flouncy curls and ridiculously deep dimples. I'm smitten. And a bit worked. And know that my "just six" plan tonight totally failed and I ended up reading just eight, letting her work me over. Perhaps the battle just doesn't feel worth it to me. Of course it's, "just the beginning."

But I'm still too lovestruck to dwell on her flaws.