The other night Caroline woke up about 4:30 a.m. which is really a great hour to be awakened because there is that voice in the back of my mind that tells me best case scenario, I’m getting maybe one more hour of sleep. I stumble into her room only to discover that the only issue is that she wants to get in my bed. Visions of being kicked, poked and possibly licked for the precious remainder of the night dance through my head and I tell her no.
I rock her for a minute, she pulls away and says, “Here’s the deal, you let me come in your bed and it’ll be so nice. It’ll be great. Okay. Let’s just go get in your bed.”
Here’s the deal? Did my child just say “here’s the deal”?
When did she become a used car salesman?
I turn down her salespitch, as compelling as it was, and tell her she has to stay in her own bed. She tells me she’s not tired. I tell her that Jesus will help her go back to sleep and have sweet dreams.
The next morning, I go in to get her and ask “How did you sleep?”
She says, “Not great, Jesus didn’t help me at all.”