SLEEPING NOT LIKE A ROCK
An hour into real, deep, down-the-well sleep, a very hard head knocked into mine. The owner of said head woke up momentarily to laugh at our situation. “I was dreaming that I was at the park and you were a rock!” My head was a rock, to be exact.
We readjusted our blankets a few times and now she is done kicking, back to honest sleep.
She is VERY soundly asleep again, my small person. I am not. The cat’s awake, too.
To keep the peace among ourselves concerning blankets, she has hers and I have mine. We tried a traditional sheet-blanket-comforter arrangement. One of us shivered or sweated the night away, sure that the other didn’t love us enough to be more considerate (in the unconscious primordial selfish act of sleeping) to be fair with the blankets. At least, that’s what I think she thought, according to the mornings’ laundry list of sleepy wrongdoings on my part. When she stole all of the blankets, I unwound her and did my best to hold on to a corner when the rewinding began.
My small person and I sleep in her bed every night that she is with me. When she spends the night at her daddy’s, she sleeps in a room with her big sister or in her daddy’s great big bed. She chooses not to be alone at night. I don’t blame her. Fortunately, she still sees me as a safety and not a liability after the last time we slept in my very big bed at the Yellow Cottage. She doesn’t see me as a magnet for the violence that fell upon us.
I had worried about that, until her bed arrived at The Charming Wreck and she asked me to not make her sleep alone.
We talk before we sleep, serious and silly conversations that drift from subject to subject. Last night, she wished to go back in time. What would you do in the past? I asked. She would have told me not to move to that house. Skip that one, steer the other way, anywhere but there, she emphasized with waving arms and bugged out eyes. She wishes to go forward in time, too, to see what will happen here.
Here, I assured her, we have people who care very much about us. We are never alone. We even have Jake the Enormous Dog, who is nearly as tall as she is now. With that giggly bit of reassurance, she fell immediately into sleep. We are loved, and the dog is huge, and Squirrel still sleeps on our feet up here in her in-between room.
She sleeps beside me now, and I’m typing with one long skinny leg stretched across my arms in her bed.
We’ve solved the blanket issues by choosing our favorites from the mishmash collection of quilts and comforters that came alone with us from the cottage. I choose a strangely heavy quilt made of not-so-soft fabric. I like the weight, and the faded roses on one side, and the box-pleated trim. She likes a very puffy, very purple fuzzy comforter with a silky side and a fluffy side. It came into our lives when we took a trip to the store just to pick out her new bedding, for her new room, almost two years ago.
She’d never been given such a choice. We’d always done what I always do, just used what we have or what we’re given. That day, she got to be her own interior decorator, and she chose soft things in loud purples and pinks and blues…on clearance, my sweet girl. Those red discount tags make her decisions easier on both of us. She felt like a smart shopper, and I felt relief at the small cost of getting her everything she wanted, even the star-shaped throw pillow.
I’ll play this upstairs-downstairs game until she chooses to have her bed to herself again. While she still wants to share her space, I store up the sleepy conversations and the funny head-bonks and waking up to a before-bedtime-bathified unstinky foot in my face in the middle of the night. Too soon, she’ll be big. She will kick me out, and downstairs I’ll stay.
I’m happy to be the rock in the park in her dreams.