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Celina's wants and needs while regressed usually followed an easy pattern. No matter the age she fell under.
When she was anywhere between nine months and a year old, it was bottle feedings, diapers, soft toys, lullabies, and lots of naps. When she was anywhere between two and four years old, it was sippy cups of water and juice (and sometimes warm milk at bedtime), pull-ups and potty reminders, story times, coloring, and playing with her much louder and brighter toys. When she was between five and seven years old, it was training pants, playing and exploring outside, playing pretend, playing board games, and helping John in the kitchen whenever he cooked or baked.
However, that didn't mean that she didn't sometimes gravitate towards the things that brought her a great deal of comfort on her younger end of the age spectrum when she was feeling a little older. Unfortunately, though, Celina struggled to accept that it was okay for her to have those smaller comforts while in an older headspace.
"Are you sure you don't want Foxy tonight, baby?" John asked one last time as he drew the safari animal patterned comforter up to Celina's chin.
Celina gave him an exasperated look and exhaled a long, overdramatic sigh. "Da-ddyyyy! I said I don't need Foxy. I'm not that little tonight."
John put his hands up in mock surrender and shot her a sheepish smile. "Okay, okay. I hear you, baby girl. I just wanted to make sure."
After tucking the blankets around her, John leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead.
"Remember, you have your cup of water right here on your nightstand, your nightlight is already on, and you can come and wake me up at any point during the night–tummy ache, bad dreams, doesn't matter. You can always wake me up. Okay?"
Celina nodded her head. "Okay, got it, daddy."
John pressed one more kiss to his little girl's forehead.
"Goodnight, babyface. I love you."
"Love you too, daddy. G'night," she responded around a yawn, closing her eyes.
Celina listened to John walk away, waiting until she heard the door quietly click shut behind him to open her eyes back up. After she heard his footsteps retreat down the hall, she wiggled out of her blankets and threw them back. Celina stood up and quietly tiptoed across the room over to her closet. She took hold of the doorknob and very carefully opened it. She turned the light on inside and began the search for the very item that she'd told her daddy she didn't need. A small, sleepy smile lit up her face when she finally found the soft crocheted pink, white, and grey baby blanket with a little fox stitched on one of its corners.
"Come on, Foxy. It's bedtime," she whispered, clutching the blanket close to her chest.
She flipped the closet's light switch back off before making her way back to her bed and climbing in. She curled up on her side and tucked the baby blanket under her chin, pulling the covers back over herself. It didn't take long for sleep to whisk her away to dreams of her daddy and singing and dancing foxes.
And when John would come wake her in the morning and catch a glimpse of the familiar blanket peeking out of the rest, he would pretend he didn't see anything: for his little girl's sake.
Celina would come around and not feel any embarrassment about needing a little extra comfort from time to time while in an older headspace, one day. It was just going to take time and patience.