Bzzzt.
...
Bzzzt.
...
...
Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt.
I groggily pick my phone up from the nightstand. Keegan is texting me.
"Can u help me go back to sleep pls"
"Ok. Be there in a minute"
I put the phone back down on the nightstand.
...
...
...
Bzzzt.
"Pls"
I guess he didn't fall back asleep. I did, but he didn't.
"Sorry. I'm coming"
It's 3am. He can't sleep. Bad dreams. He needs his daddy.
My little guy is 11, and he still asks for cuddles with his dada. And, usually, I'm a sucker for cuddles. That being said, times like these, times like 3am, I forget for a moment what a precious thing they are. But I remind myself that he won't want cuddles forever. Sooner or later (hopefully later), he'll be too old for cuddles. Despite the time of night, I know these moments are numbered, and I need to scoop them up while I still can. It's just that... it's soooo difficult to get out of my nice, warm, comfy bed, knowing I need to be up for work in just a couple hours.
But, he's my kiddo. He'll always be my baby boy. And I'd do anything for him (until he inevitably drives me out of my mind). So I stumble my way out of my room, trying not to smash my thigh on the sharp corner of my wooden bed frame as I pass by. I weave my way down the short hall to his room, blundering back and forth off the walls in a drunken-like stupor (now I know what it feels like to be that stupid fly trying to get out through the closed window). As I peel back the blanket flap, and peer into the darkness of Keegan's bed fort, I detect no movement. No quiet, beseeching voice. No shuffling sounds to make room for his dada. Only silent, unmoving darkness. I begin to realize the little rascal has fallen back asleep! Shaking my head, I close the blanket flap and head back to the door.
Hand on the door handle, I hear "where are you going?" So, he wasn't asleep afterall! It's 3am and the little punk is playing games! I emit a little growl, and walk back to crawl into bed beside him.
I'm sure you're familiar with the phrase "crawl into bed". In this case, I'm not simply using it as an expression. I literally need to crawl into his bed. It is a bunk bed, he sleeps on the bottom bunk, and that sits about 2 inches from the floor. Not only is it low to the ground, I also need to get past his gauntlet of stuffies, multiple sheets and covers, and the blanket flap that hangs from the top bunk. That's not even mentioning the Pokémon cards, toy cars, video game controllers, nerf guns, basketballs, bicycles, and trampolines! This is not an easy bed to get into! But we will come back to this in a little bit.
After the grunting and shuffling needed to get semi-comfortable is through (that's the maximum achievable comfort level in his bed), I settle in to cuddle with my kiddo. He was having bad dreams, poor little guy. He asks me to tell him a bedtime story to get his mind off the dreams, and so I make something up with Super Keegan saving the day from Super Bad Guy (two repeat characters in my impromptu storytellings before bed). He falls asleep almost immediately, twitching.
Remember me saying it's not an easy bed to get into? Well, it is equally impossible to get out of. I wait for the twitching to subside, then attempt to extricate myself from the tangle of Keegan's arms and legs (moments like these, I swear he's got a half dozen of each). So far so good. I climb out, fumbling through the blanket flap, grunting silently (yes, this is possible), and I slowly stand up, joints creaking and groaning the whole way. I reflexively cringe at the sound and listen anxiously for his quiet, steady breaths. Still asleep. Good. Bending backwards to stretch out my spine, I audibly pop seventeen thousand vertebrae. This is what wakes him up.
"Where are you going?"
"You fell asleep. I'm going back to bed."
"No I didn't."
...
...
Sigh.
I settle back down again (this takes another minute or two), and resume the story. Super Bad Guy broke out of prison and was planning a bank heist with his old crew. But there's a new guy on the old crew. A spy. It's Blue Doggy (Keegan's oldest stuffed animal) in disguise. After some hijinks and shenanigans, Blue Doggy and Super Keegan foil Super Bad Guy's plans and land them all back in prison.
He's asleep again. This time I give him a few more minutes before I get up, in hopes that he will be deeper into his slumber and less likely to wake up. This, of course, backfires. Because, this time, I fall asleep.
My work alarm seems to go off the very instant I pass out. Keegan wakes up immediately, jabbering on about... something... as I struggle to not fall back asleep. He's leaping out of bed now (how does he do that?!). He wants me to get his lunch ready. He wants me to get clothes out. He wants me to get his toothbrush ready. He wants me to be awake and on my feet and moving. Right now.
This is not how I get up in the morning.
My back hurts from sleeping all scrunched up in his tiny little bed. My eyes won't focus (or stay open for that matter). My head is pounding. I can't turn my neck to the left for some reason. And there's a sharp pain in my - ouch! Oh, a stuffed animal with a hard plastic nose has been stabbing me in the left kidney all night. A cow, I believe. Udderly ridiculous. I mooove it out of the way. ("Did he really just go there?", you ask. Yup. He did.)
I find myself standing in my little boy's room, bleary eyes squinting in the bright light that he has viciously turned on, contemplating calling in sick for the rest of the week. But, then Keegan is standing in front of me. He's reaching out to me with both arms. He gives me one of his famous hugs. Tight, long, and heartfelt. These are battery recharging hugs. This is the kind of hug that grandparents go on about in length to other old people in diners while eating their 4pm supper. These hugs are for real. These are Keegan hugs.
He says "I-love-you-more-than-you-love-me-infinity-and-beyond-the-end-I-win" (all one word). And I give him a "Yeah, yeah..." (it's our thing).
...and suddenly all is right with the world.
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