"What's wrong Brooklyn? You had a bad dream? Nooooo! Oh, please don't ask to sleep in my bed. Please, please, please. Brooklyn don't you want to go back to sleep in your bed? Oh, sure you do. Your bed is comfy. You don't want to sleep in my bed. Go back to sleep in YOUR BED, Baby."
That's what the logical person (who desperately needs a decent night's sleep) in me wanted to say.
But this is what I really said...
"Ohhh, it's okay, Baby. It was just a dream. It's okay. Mommy's here. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight? Hop in, Sweetie. Try to go back to sleep now. kiss kiss Go to sleep. I love you."
THIS is why I wanted to tell her to get back in her own bed.
For some reason, she always sleeps horizontally across my bed. It's like she's a compass or something. She automatically magnetically points north. I scoot her over and turn her around and two seconds later, she's horizontal again. I push her back over and flip, she's back like this!
It's fun for me because I get to be kicked in the butt all. night. long. I've tried putting a pillow barrier between us, but she still manages to sneak her feet under or over the line of pillows. And she's hot! She's like a little heater which is wonderful for a perimenopausal woman who wakes up drenched in sweat ordinarily.
Sigh. But she's cute and snuggly and she's my last baby. How can I possibly turn her away when she throws her little arms around my neck and kisses me and says, "I love you so much, Mommy!" a hundred times a day?