She is always fighting sleep, and losing.
Her hand grasps a giant plastic sword. She is slashing her way through the thicket of sleepy-eyed figures that dance around her. She battles through, swaying from side to side as her arms get heavier and heavier, her limbs like weights. She is struggling against the sounds of a babbling brook, and the soft kisses of the blanket that hugs her body. Fight, fight, fight….she chants. But, she can go on no longer. Her fingers begin releasing the sword, one by one. Then her hand opens and the sword falls to the floor…thud. Her body caves, her legs, the small of her back, her shoulder, her head. As she’s collapsing, a tear streams slowly down her cheek. She has surrendered to the tortured bliss that is nap time.
I like this a lot