You squeeze your eyes shut and try to roll away from the pudgy hands grasping at your face. The clock blinks an ugly five-something-something. You just know it is too early to be awake. You've stayed up too late--yet again--reading, and that little body seems to be making more frequent forays into your bed lately-- not a good combination for sleep, of course. You throw one arm over your ear, the one that is not pressed firmly against the pillow, in hopes to remain in your dreamlike state. Alas, your fleshy barrier doesn't quite block out the sounds and you hear a muffled, "Mama, will you cuddle me?" How can you resist such a request? You roll back to the striped-clad body and tuck his two-year-old softness against your warm chest and abdomen. Good morning.
Pink- butterfly- pajama- clad legs dance around the breakfast table where half-eaten pancakes sit, forlorn in a puddle of syrup. Up goes one leg, in a half skipping movement, hop on the other foot. Ahhh, this looks like the well known, practiced for ages, pee-pee dance.
Do you need to use the bathroom?
Nope, I'm just dancing to music in my head.