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The Price of Change

I’m not sure exactly when the day began, or when it’s appropriate to count its beginning.  But somewhere long before the crack of daylight, my son wandered out of his room, carefully closed his door and found his way to my face.  He hadn’t traveled light.  His train blanket was over his head, and his blue puppy was hanging from one of his hands, and he was tripping over both, when I slid out of bed and turned his little body around.  I wasn’t planning on having him stay.

It was too easy, I guess. This new bunk bed thing.  He could just crawl out, roll out or fall out, open the door, and be right there.  Which he had.  In the middle of the night. 

So, by the glow of his night light I wrapped him back in his blanket, curling the bottom up like a burrito.  And with minimal words shut his door and slunk back under my own covers.  That hadn’t been so bad.

Until the next click of his door some twenty minutes later when my little boy from his big bed showed up in our room again dragging his whole entourage and mumbling through his binky about needing food.  Only I could see the clock now, and it was 2:42.   His tummy would wait. 

So we shuffled back to his room.  Re-wrapped.  Re-burritoed.  He asked for ice cream.  And I croaked out most of Twinkle Twinkle…

He would let me lay in my bed for two and half more hours before enthusiastically fleeing his bottom bunk for the last time and scrambling up the side of mine.  It woudn’t kill me, I reasoned, to let him stay a minute or two.  Only my reasoning was askew, and it would be all the time he needed to pee his pjs and part of mine.

Ahh… the price of change.  Expensive sometimes.

But right now.  This minute.  An uninterrrupted night of sleep would be worth every penny.

Were it only that simple.

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