Matthew seems to enter the room when I'm in the deepest of deep sleeps. Last night, he wasn't even in the room when he ripped me from one of those deep sleeps.
Somewhere deep in my dream state, I heard sobbing. I jolted awake, discombobulated, half-conscious of my surroundings. The clock said it was 4:48 a.m. I slid out of bed and stumbled toward the bedroom door. As I reached the door, a small boy, wrapped in his favorite Thomas the Tank Engine blanket, padded down the hallway and into the room while weeping. "I wanna a new pet," I heard him cry. "I wanna a new pet!"
"Go to the bathroom," I told him.
No, it's not the typical response to a weeping child in the middle of the night, but I am endlessly practical. I didn't want him climbing into my bed and falling asleep with a full bladder. Without question, he turned, walked into the master bathroom and peed, crying the whole time.
As he walked back out, I decided to follow my own advice, and I headed into the bathroom. As we passed, I said, "we can talk about a new pet in the morning."
He instantly stopped crying, looked up at me and said, "What are you talking about? I didn't say I want a new pet. I said I fell out of bed."
"Oh," I said. "Well, go to bed."
Since the tears were over, he climbed into my bed, I followed him in, and we both went to sleep.
I hope he doesn't think I'm getting him a new pet.
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