… and I’m sound asleep.
“Joey? The dog.”
The dog bolts out the front door. I wait.
Five minutes. Ten.
Finally the dog resurfaces. By now, I’ve complained about him on Twitter.
At this point, I’m kind of awake but decide to go upstairs.
Ugh. It’s 7yo Lucas. He’s had another nightmare. He’s in his robe, standing in the hallway. I know there is no way he’s falling right back to sleep so I think if I go to bed with him maybe we have a chance.
But his bed doesn’t have the pillows I like (need?). And he doesn’t have heavy covers. And it’s a little cold.
“Come close to Dad. I’ll hold you,” making up somewhat for the missing “arm pillow” I require.
But in five minutes it’s clear. He’s too awake. He’s not going back to sleep.
“Let’s go downstairs for some cereal. And bring your book.”
It’s not what I had planned for my pre-dawn Saturday morning. But here we are.
Can you relate?