You climbed into our bed last night scratching furiously at the bug bite on the back of your hand. It was swollen and inflamed. A nasty sight. Groggy and desperate of sleep, I asked you to bring over the medicine on your bathroom counter, and you did without complaint, even though the hallways were dark and the house was quiet. Even though you are often scared of the night. I listened to your quick, four-year-old sized footsteps as you raced down the hall, switched on the light, used the bathroom and then rushed back, medicine and Q-tip clutched in your hand. Medicine applied, you snuggled close beside me and went back to sleep.
A typical night of a mother; interrupted sleep that is dotted with the pride felt for a well behaved child, and the sweetness of being loved.