It’s Sunday and it’s a good day to sleep in, at least us parents think so. The three kids aren’t having it.
The eldest comes into our bedroom at 6:51. I can hear her pacing at the foot of the bed. Lie still, I tell myself. Very still. Maybe she’ll go back to bed. But she’s not having it. And then my wife with tremendous effort lifts her head off the pillow and tells her to get into bed.
She crawls in between us.
I lie very still, my eyes closed.
But I can feel her looking at me. Then she pokes me. And pokes me again.
I move. I can’t help it.
And she turns to mummy and says, “Phew! I thought he was dead.”