Outside our window, the street lights brought some illumination to the pavement and yards below, but the thick, black darkness filled our home.
I moved my head to the left, seeing the glowing red numbers of my alarm clock. Not quite 5 a.m. I was curled in an odd, not very comfortable S-Shape, my body wrapped around the slumbering cats curled up in our bed throughout the night.
Then, I heard it. A tiny little voice from the other room.
Our son, talking in his sleep.
He called out the name of one of my parents’ dogs, the same playful way he does when he wants them to chase him around their house.
A few minutes later, I heard “Ernie! Elmo! Help me with...(a slew of words that were unintelligible).”
Shortly after that giggles and laughter.
Some time later, I heard “Dada, me take binky outside, peeaassse?” (we’re still working on weaning him off that binky. It only shows up at night for sleep currently as we try to lessen his dependence on it)
I just laid there in bed, smiling, trying to stifle my laughter at these wonderful adventures, laughs and lives he’s living in his sleepy little head.
It was wonderful.