It's actually early Saturday, but my Friday's disappear quicker than those last grains of sand in an hourglass, so I'm joining Lisa-jo today. Writing for 5 minutes - okay maybe seven or eight - but really just writing about waking up.
I hear the footsteps just before he appears at the side of my bed. It used to be a sweet, scuffling pitter-patter, but that sound evaporated between his last 2 birthdays. These are the footsteps of a sleepy, but determined five year old, tall enough to look me in the eye when I'm lying down.
Waking up to butterbain's sleep-raspy voice as he asks: I have to go to the bathroom, will you come with me? Throwing the covers back, I take his fragile (isn't everything fragile at 3 am?) and we weave our way through the black pitch of night to the bathroom, flipping on a teeny light that won't make it too hard to get back to sleep. After necessary water sips and handwashing, we click off the light and head back into darkness. Once in bed, snuzzled together, we face each other, profess our love, and drift back into our ocean of sleep.