Butterfly attack

At 11pm last night Lily still wasn’t asleep and I went in to lay down with her for a bit.

“What’s going on, babe?” I asked.

“I scared.”

“What of?”

“Monnnnnnnn-sters.”

“Hmmmm, I thought we asked them to stay outside.”

“Yeah,” big pause, “Mommy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I have butterflies in my hands.”

“You do?”

“Yep, and on my butt.”

“Does your tummy hurt?”

“No and I have butterflies on my feet. Wanna see?”

“Um, OK.”

She thrust the bottom of her feet at me and in the half light of her night light I see the soles of her feet dotted in little blue butterflies, pressed on with the stamp I now notice sitting next to her bed on the table.

“Umm, can I see the ones on you butt, please?”

“YES!” She pulls down the front of her jammies (to Lily, everything covered by her underwear is her butt) and I see more blue butterflies dotted all over her, flittering downward. It was all I could do to stop myself from laughing aloud.

“Are they all over your body, Lil?”

“YES!”

And then I did laugh. Loudly. Sure enough, they were everywhere. Her arms, legs, chest, everywhere but her face and those parts of her she could not reach.

“Why you laughing, Mom?”

“Because you’re silly.”

With a big grin, “Not silly. Stop that laughing.”

“OK.”

“MOM. Stop laughing!”

“OK, OK!”

But I’m still laughing. Come on, wouldn't you be?