My kids have mad skills. They can wake up, usually between 3:00 - 4:00 am, walk down a dark hallway, into a dark room, go past their Dad's side of the bed, find mine way on the other side of the room, and proceed to scare me to death.
This morning it was Macey. She was up because she was scared of the dark, she said. Tired, I scooted over and let her crawl into bed. And suffocated. A husband, an eight-month pregnant me, and a five year old in a queen bed does not add up to comfort.
The last few nights it has been Molly. Usually she walks down the dark hall with her pillowpet, into my room, walks past her sleeping Dad and shoves a sippy cup in my face, demanding milk. "More milk!" Oh, and she usually amends "With Bunny" (her word for Nestle chocolate). And a spot in my bed. Usually I refuse to negotiate with terrorists but at that time in the morning I am too tired to argue.
One day they'll discover it's just easier, and cozier, to stay in bed. Or they'll discover that Dad's side of the bed is ever so much closer. Right now, I'll take either one.