My kid. MY kid.
Tonight she rejected the idea of pajamas in its entirety. I stripped off her clothes and diaper and she was hot – she had been wearing layers, and boots, and playing/running/climbing – and so she wiggled away from me and crawled into her bed naked, tucked her blankets around her, and closed her eyes.
I put a diaper on her, regardless, and snuggled her into her down blanket without much commentary. Because I remember.
One of my earliest memories is of finding nightgowns annoying. Of being frustrated that I had to wear pajamas at sleepovers when a pair of underpants was so much more comfortable.
So I get it, kid. I really do.
And then after some stories and some snuggles and some stretching out starfish-like, she fell asleep. On her belly, left leg pulled up to her chest.
As I have always done.
I get it, kid.