Sweet and stinky

In her dimly lit room, I held my daughter for a moment. I swayed back and forth singing a song I made up for her when I could hold her in one arm.
I placed her on her bed, and pulled the covers around her chin. "Goodnight, sweet Willa."
"Mama," she said with a sleepy 1/2 smile, eyes barely open, "I farted on your hand."