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“One more, pleeeease.”
“I can’t,” I said. “I think you broke me.”
Mira giggled, and her warm, soft hands gripped my face until I had no choice but to open my eyes. She pressed her forehead against mine, her features going blurry because of how close she was.
“You not broken; you need a nap.”
We’d been playing a modified game of tag in which Mira instructed me to act like various animals while I chased her around my fenced-in backyard. During the last round, I was deemed a crab, and it became clear that my crab walk needed some work. My glutes were going to be sore for a week after that one.
“I do need a nap,” I told her. Then I tapped her nose. “So do you, young lady.”
Mira took off running, her curly hair streaming out behind her. “No nap! I not tired.”
I snorted. She could be falling asleep at the dinner table and would still say she wasn’t tired.
Because I was allowed to chase after her in my human form, I caught her quickly and swung her up into my arms. She arched her back when I tickled her side.
“Come on, Mirabelle, you need some quiet time, okay?”
“Das not my name,” she said through her giggles.
I blew a raspberry into the side of her neck. “No, but that’s what I call you, pretty little girl.”
Most days during her quiet time, she ended up fast asleep in the upstairs bedroom that we’d turned into hers. But given her current energy level, I wasn’t sure as I wrangled her into the house that we’d get any actual rest.
Which was problematic, because she had a penchant for waking up in the middle of the night to throw a two-hour party, and I was ready for the phase to be over.
We walked into the bathroom, her arms still tight around my neck, and she refused to let go when I tried to set her down.
“One tinkle and we’ll get a sticker for your book.”
“Two stickers?” she asked, immediately setting her feet down on the ground.
“One sticker.” I gave her a look when she pushed her lip out in a pout. “You know the deal, kiddo. One sticker for number one, two stickers for number two.”
She set her jaw mulishly. “No number two. I hate stickers.”
Good.
Awesome.
I tapped the edge of her chin with my finger. “You can try, though.”
While she did her business, I washed my hands and sighed internally. Potty-training regression wasn’t uncommon at all when a child had experienced a major loss, and I reminded myself that we’d already made progress the last couple of weeks.
Four weeks of the single-mom club already under my belt, and I’d come to understand that in situations like this, time moved in strange, immeasurable ways.
The meeting at the lawyer’s office felt like it had just happened.
Sometimes.
Other days, it felt like it had been a year ago.
Most days, I managed not to think about Liam.
Sort of.
My days were spent in a loop; each one felt long and exhausting. But at the end of each week, I could hardly believe how quickly they had passed.
