My poor little sensitive child. At over three years old, Little Man has never worried about storms before, but the nasty beast of a fireworks display we had last night? Well, that's another story, apparently. My sweet little boy. He didn't panic, or cry or freak out or anything you would expect. He just had that wide-eyed look about him, laying in bed with me last night. Rolling over to wrap his arms around me while we snuggled and I reassured him that it was okay. He is like me, after all. He didn't want to go to sleep. I'm a storm watcher, myself. Especially since becoming a mother. I watch the storms as they come and go, track their progress, gauge their threat potential, and I won't go to sleep until its over. T tried to stay awake, too, just watching the lights flicker through the curtains in my room. I finally asked him if he wanted to go to bed. No answer. Just that quiet little doe-eyed stare that said, "Mommy, come lay down WITH me". So, I did. "Bubby, you want Mommy to go to bed in your room with you?"
"Yes!", he whispered, as he was climbing out of bed, eager to get a little further away from the thundering winds outside. As he was drifting off to sleep, curled up next to me in his bed, he put his little hand on my cheek, looked me in the eye and said, "I wuv you, Mommy".
What a beautiful way to end a weekend.
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