Terrified screaming awoke me at 12:42 this morning. Another nightmare for the littlest in the house.
I stumbled up the stairs to soothe (in mumbled, yawning jargon) and hopefully help return her to slumber. When I leaned over her crib, she wasn't even awake; she was just thrashing. I patted her back and the thrashing stopped as she gently opened her eyes to say, "hi Mama, I wet." Then she gently closed them, trusting that I would rectify the annoying situation.
Then I tucked her back into her crib and went to the hall linen closet to retrieve another light blanket. When I returned, this is what I found:
Two bunny friends clutched tightly for help during the night.
She's nearly ready for the move to a regular bed. But I am not. This is my last littlest one. And I am trying (even in the darkest hours) to treasure the small sweet moments.