Can your finger go someplace

I'm not exactly sure what this means, but she wanted to know. I hope I answered correctly.

While putting her down tonight, a rushed put down after a dinner out with Opa, she grasped hold of the very tip of my nose and started twisting it back and forth. As you know, Tahlia is too gentle to actually hurt anyone or anything, so the twisting was more of stretching. She was talking to the end of my nose, saying things like, "Hi Daddy's nose."

She gave my nose a respite for a little while, and clasped her hands together and began twisting them to the right and the left. After a few turns, she says, "Daddy, my hand can't go all around, only this far." She shows me. "It can only go this far because my hand holds it." It was an obvious statement, so I didn't say anything. Then, "Daddy, why can't my hand go?"

"Because your other hand is holding it." I respond, using her answer as so much of the time she uses mine.

"This far Daddy?" She asks twisting to the stopping point.

"Yes." Remember, even though this is fascinating to me, I have to have her go to sleep. It is quickly approaching late, and she needs to sleep.

She lets go with one hand and begins twisting her hands at the wrists, then arms. First this way and then that. She looks back at me and grasps my nose again.

"Can your nose go somewhere?"

Her question, as many of them do, caught me off guard, "No, sweetie, it can't go anywhere." I convey with my whisper voice.

"Why?"

"Because it is attached to my face." Again, an obvious answer.

She seems to like twisting various parts of my face right now, and her hands shoot out and grasp my forehead, "Can your forehead go somewhere?"

"No." I say as she smiles.

"Can your chin go somewhere?"

"No."

"Can your eyes go somewhere?"

"No." With each new question, comes an new finger grasping or poking the mentioned feature.

"Can your finger go somewhere?"

The song that I said I was going to stay through is at its end. "No, honey," I say softly, "It has to stay attached to my hand."

And I give her a kiss, and tell her to have sweet dreams, and slip out the door to leave her wondering, very much like the Cake song, "When you sleep, where do your fingers go?"