Archive - June 29, 2015

Some nights our daughter ends up in our bed. Like when she’s sick, obviously. Or like when my husband and I watched The Conjuring on Netflix (WHY did we do that?!) and brought her to bed with us to keep her safe from creepy entities. Our son was on his own. Not playing favourites, but he’s huge—too big for our bed and fully capable of fighting off creepy entities if need be. Last night Avery ended up in our bed because she fell asleep there reading stories and she was just too comfy to move. I love to snuggle with her and listen to her breathe, burying my face in her neck and cuddling all up in her sweetness. But then when I drift off to sleep and she starts tossing and turning and digging her toes into my rib cage, the charm wears off. Last night before the barrage of flying feet and fists, I was deep in a dream. Though I tried to commit the details to memory, in the light of day the plot is fuzzy. I know I was about to give an order of some kind—something serious and life altering. I was hesitant and afraid.[…]