Just five more minutes?

So many times in life I've asked for five more minutes. Most of those requests were made to my Mama.

"Girls, get out of the pool... it's time for dinner." Mama would instruct us.
"Just five more minutes?" Kate and I would respond.

"Turn off the TV. It's time for bed." Mama would command.

"Just five more minutes?" I'd beg.

"Wrap it up, girls... it's time for your bath!" Mama would say.
We dirty kids would answer in protest, "Just five more minutes... please?"

Mama's answer usually allowed us the extra time; she probably knew we'd ask for more time and adjusted her call to action accordingly so our request would match up with the time she really wanted us to change our activity.

Now I'm the Mama, but am still the one who wants just five more minutes.

Each night somewhere between seven o'clock and eight-thirty our bedtime routine for Holland begins: bath, tooth brushing (she has five, and yes, you're supposed to brush at this age), putting on pajamas, "last call"- her final milk of the day, and then down in her crib. It's a routine that we have down like a science; my favorite part is the next-to-last element. When she is all clean and is in a fresh sleeper, I sit in my rocking chair that is cozily tucked in a corner of her bedroom as my husband lowers her into my arms. I rock and feed her as she begins eagerly and then slows gradually as the moments tick by. I can feel her slip off into slumber and know that means it's time to lay her down... but each night as I drink in her scent and the feel of her little body pressed up against mine, I find myself begging for "just five more minutes."

I usually say yes.