You insist

come bedtime

to wear these old jammies I had set aside to give away.

Hidden, I thought, but you drag them into the light.

Chin set hard against offers of these, with Elmo, or your favorite

with feet that look like dogs’ faces

We pretend the dogs are real: I bark and you laugh.

But not tonight,

tonight we stretch the fabric until it nearly tears

struggle against the unfamiliar smallness

But on they go.

“I’m still a baby,” you sigh, collapsing into my lap.

despite the ever lengthening limbs

you dress yourself

brush your own teeth

know your alphabet

know to look both ways

I see you with pants too short and and shirt too small

stubbornly trying to climb

into these old skins you shed

so quickly these days.