Molly: (concentrating on her coloring)
Molly: Allll done com (with) colors, mama. Now, I a doctor.
Molly: And you’re sick, mama?
Molly: You come to my clinic?
Me: Yes, for treatment
Molly: Yes. Tree-mint.
Me: Where is your clinic?
Molly: In my room. Come on!
Me: (three minutes to bedtime, groan) Oh doctor! I need your help!
Molly: (bouncing off to her room in the three tutus she insisted were necessary this morning)
Me: (slothing my way behind her picking up books and things along the way, knock on the door)
Molly: (opens the door wearing a stethoscope) The Doc is in!
Me: Doctor, I am sick.
Molly: Come into my clinic.
Molly: What the problem, mommy?
Me: I ate a live octopus and he is wiggling in my stomach.
Molly: Oh, that is a problem. Lay down on your face.
Me: So the octopus doesn’t escape?
Molly: I need to check your back.
Molly: (stethoscopes from my skull to my feet) The Octopus is dead.
Me: He is?
Molly: He is now food. Do you feel better?
Me: I do.
Molly: MY TURN!
Me: (formulating a plan, take the stethoscope) My name is, Doctor Hanford, what seems to be the trouble?
Molly: I ate a dinosaur!
Me: You did? In one sitting?
Molly: (pinching her fingers for scale) It a little dinosaur and now he wants to get out!!!
Me: You didn’t cook him?
Molly: NO! He so cute, so cute I just… Gobble Him UP!
Me: (riots of laughter) Well, there is your problem. (applying the stethoscope to her stomach) Hum… ah-huh… hum. Did your dinosaur have spikes?
Molly: No, it a pterodactyl.
Me: A flyer! Well, then you must be admitted to the hospital overnight.
Me: Like a hospital sleepover.
Me: We will have to get you into pajamas, right now, then brush our teeth, then read a book to the pterodactyl in your belly and one to you and then you will have to go directly to sleep. That is my prescription.
Molly: Okay! (bounds off toward her pajama drawer)
(And that is how bedtime last night went off without a hitch. Molly is eagerly awaiting her pterodactyl poop, but that is a whole other conversation!)