Mama's out of town. It's the perfect excuse for you to sleep with me in The Big Bed, but I worry that there'll be too much fidgeting and nobody will sleep much, so I put you to bed in your bed, and we agree: Maybe in the middle of the night, you'll wake up — maybe from nighttime coughing — and I'd bring you to The Big Bed.
At 12:30am, the vague scampering of little feet. "Hello? Is somebody there?" No reply. I lean up to see you standing stock still against the bedroom door frame. "Are you coming into The Big Bed?" You don't say anything, but with a big grin, tumble into the side of the bed and clamber under the covers. "If you wake up and I'm not here, I've gone downstairs to work." You smile and say: "And I will come find you when I wake up." Agreed. Much fidgeting occurs. Will we ever go to sleep?
4:26am: I wake up to find you conked out next to me, as beautiful as only a sleeping 3-year-old can be. I sneak out of bed and tiptoe downstairs to work, in the peaceful pre-dawn.
5:16am: Impossible. What's that sound? Scampering feet!? Oh, no. I tip-toe to the stairs, as you shuffle past, glancing down from the top at me. "Are you going back to your bed?" A nod. I come up the stairs in time to see you climbing back into your bed. "I had a cough," you say, and then "Can you sing me a song?"
These are the best days of my life.