Every night before I go to bed, I go into Sophie's room to check on her. (You know, to make sure she's actually in there, not out touring the neighborhood. It's Sophie. So I'm only partly kidding.) I make sure Huggums and puppy are within reach and on nights when it's chilly, I like to make sure she's covered up.
The whole process is totally unnecessary, I'm sure. She's now perfectly capable of deciding if she's hot or cold and adjusting the covers appropriately. But it makes me feel like I've tied up loose ends and done my final Mama Bear task of the day before I hit the hay.
Sophie has always been an extremely light sleeper. If so much as the air around her moves, she's at full alert attention - ready to get up and chat. So I never turn on even a peep of a light. I just sneak in there, pull her blanket up over her and sneak back out. Relying on memory to guide my way (and hoping we did a good job cleaning up the toys before bed).
Last night, I was having trouble seeing when I went into her room. It seemed unusually dark. Maybe because it was cloudy and there wasn't any moonlight filtering in through the curtains. So I just kind of blindly felt my way over to her. I was reaching toward the foot of her bed, where I figured her blanket would be, when...
"HEY! You poked my face!!"
(Said in a decibel used to yell out to someone across a field on a tractor.)
My heart jumped up into my throat and I had to clap my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
Holy sweet... "Sophie! What are you doing still awake? It's late!"
"Oh, Mama, you know. Just lying here thinking 'bout stuff. What are you doing?"
"I'm, uh. I'm..." (What the heck did I come in here to do?)
As I was standing there, hand on my chest, trying to calm the THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-ing of my heart, Sophie sweetly inquired:
"Mama, are you just fine? Did I scare the death into you?"