This morning, just before 6 AM, Helena snuck into our room like she does most mornings. What stood out in particular today, is that in the early signs of sunlight peeking through the blinds, I could make out Helena's figure next to the bed – spinning. Her eyes closed, not saying a word, spinning in circles repeatedly. Finally, I guess she decided she had had enough and curled up into bed with me.
I suppose this is no stranger than when she enters the room mumbling half-dream, half-conscious thoughts like "They were all gonna explode" or "The fish looked scary, but then I touched it and it gave me a kiss". On several occasions, Jordon has caught her sliding into the room on her belly. I gather as a way to be stealth gaining access to the bed without our knowledge. Most times I'm not even aware she's crawled into the bed. I just wake up in the morning to find her laying next to me. We must have one of those mattresses you see in the commercials with the lady jumping on the bed with a glass of red wine precariously placed on it.
One morning, I wasn't privy to the fact she was in the bed until I saved her from rolling off the side of it. I've been trying for months to get Helena to spend the whole night in her room. I've tried bribing her, I've tried punishments, resorting to the promise of surprises on the rare instances she spends the entire night in her own bed. I only do this because I know it's important for her to have a routine and get a good night's sleep – that's important for both of us actually. Her teacher reiterated this at the parent/teacher conference I had with her last week. Apparently, Helena likes to pass out on the rug at school. It's hard for me to raise too much of a stink about it though. Because I know one day she won't want to sleep in my bed anymore. Or probably be anywhere near me. There will be no more spinnning. No more sleep-talking or belly sliding. And I'll miss those early morning cuddle sessions, where I catch a glimpse of her sleep-smiling at her dreams.
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