Last night, after all the Easter festivities had died down and the kids were in their beds, I settled down to do some writing on the laptop in my bedroom. I have a chair set up there, so I can sit by the window and write in relative solitude. Not more than ten minutes later, my five-year old showed up at my door, breathing hard.
“Did you have a nightmare?” I asked.
“Okay,” I gestured to my bed. “Go ahead and climb up.”
His older brother showed up just as the little guy was settling in. “Hey,” he said “Where’s -”
“Shh,” I interrupted. “He’s in the bed. You can climb in, too. Just be quiet.”
I turned off all the lights, and they quickly fell fast asleep.
It was nice working there in the darkness to the sound of the little guys’ breathing, but eventually it was time for us to go to bed. I shut down my computer and carefully lifted the little guy up and held him to my shoulder.
As I was carrying him out of the room, he suddenly started to shout. “AAAHH! Stop! Stop!”
I stopped and looked for what could be going wrong. Was I pinching him, or was his foot turned wrong or something? I shifted his weight, then held him away from my body so I could make sure.
“AAAH” he continued, whipping his head back and forth. His whole body was rigid, his eyes closed tight.
Panicked, I lowered him to the floor. As soon as he was horizontal again, he relaxed and stopped shouting, fast asleep on the wooden floor.
I checked him to make sure he was completely out. then picked him up again and ran to his bedroom before he could start screaming again.
Talk about a nightmare!