The Wee Man has been climbing into bed with me at stupid o'clock in the morning, and by stupid o'clock, I mean an hour that has a single number in its name.
Oh stop. Be real. You know a one-numbered A.M. hour is one that should involve sleeping. Seriously.
Today he crawled in, lifted up the covers and let in all the cold air, got snuggled down, all the while clutching Beloved (THE blanket) and sucking his thumb furiously.
This meant, praise God from Whom all blessings flow, that he was going to go back to sleep.
He slid his head across the pillow until we were forehead to bleary forehead. (That'd be me, the bleary one, at stupid o'clock in the morning.)
Mama, why are we so close together?
After contemplating numerous reasons that included torture, Murphy's Law, wanting me to never sleep soundly again, I put my Grown Up Pants on and said, Because we love each other.
And that sweet boy fell asleep instantly, with the happiest grin a furious thumb-sucker could muster.