Sleeping Around

Dear Michael,

As a toddler, you came into our bedroom at night to sleep on the carpet, always on the side near Mom. It was really cute. You never knocked on the door or asked to come in.

I would get up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and there you would be, sprawled on the carpet next to our bed, eyes closed, head on a pillow, all tucked under your blanket.

Obviously you wanted to be near us – or, rather, Mom – for a sense of security.

The system had its flaws, though. I know for sure I almost tripped on you, catching your foot or something.

It lent our sleep an aura of mystery, your habit of silently slipping in to join us. I remember waking up and wondering, Is he here yet?

You probably made your entrance at all different times, whenever you felt the need, rather than according to any regular schedule. I’m sure Mom felt flattered by your wish for such proximity to her round the clock, though she never said so.

Who could blame you, really? I mean, there you are – what, two, three years old? – alone in your room, thinking, Hey, man, it’s dark in here, what the fuck.

And then I can imagine your just deciding, Look, enough of this alone-in-the-dark crap, I’m heading Momward.

And so night after night in you came, our reliable little visitor, bundled in your baby-blue pajamas, the three of us sleeping together in the late, still quiet.

Of course, once you got to be about three years old, I started to wonder how much longer you planned to be our nocturnal roommate. I started to question whether maybe you were getting a little old for that kind of dependency on our company. And of course, the older you grew, the larger a sleeping object on our floor you became, and so more of a – how to say? – interference. In short, it was now easier to step on you and trip over you.

So we had something of a safety issue there.

P.S. — Part 2 will appear tomorrow.

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