Saturday, January 26, 2013

Whisper at 11:30

My son last night couldn't fall asleep.  He has inherited this from me.  He kept appearing behind me, snuggly in one hand, thumb in his mouth as I brushed my teeth or changed clothes or washed my face.  About the fifth time of sending him back to his bed, he appeared in the hallway again, standing quietly at the threshold of the door.

He whispered something so quietly that I had to stoop down to him for him to say it again.  In the same tiniest wisp of a whisper, he said in my ear, "Mom, I want to lay down next to you." 

He climbed into bed and fell asleep next to me at 11:30 as I read Yes, Chef, a memoir about another Ethiopian boy adopted by a white mother. 

I kept stealing glances at him next to me on the pillow as he fell asleep.  I was so thankful he still needs me like this sometimes.

He complained about the pillow being 'itchy', so I picked him up and carried him into his own bed.

This morning he sneaked into my room, unplugged my phone and took it downstairs to play games on.  Today is my fake birthday, and he loudly helped his dad make burnt bacon for me.  The noise woke me up.  Back to his normal self.

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