Gotta love her spirit

It's five minutes to 1:00--in the morning. She is in my arms after being rocked and consoled after waking up, screaming. She has consumed a midnight bottle of forumla, per the doctor's orders; she is very anemic and the fevers have kept her from eating or drinking much.
Her eyes are closed, her breathing heavy. She is not yet asleep, but almost. I kiss her warm head and whisper,

"Ok love, time to go back to bed..."

She does not move, she does not open her eyes, but I hear the sleepy protest of a tiny voice-

"No?"

Gotta love that spirit.

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