My son is in my bed right now. He came in a few minutes ago, while I was watching The Wire on my iMac. He climbed on the couch at the foot of the bed, and went right over onto the bed, curling up next to my wife.
My wife really doesn’t like it that he comes into bed every night. He wakes her up with his flailing around. He eventually ends up sleeping across the bed, with his feet on me and his head on her hip. She can’t sleep and it makes her cranky. So she often asks me why I let it happen, night after night.
See, here’s the thing. My son is going through this phase where he has bad dreams. Monsters and witches are mean to him. He wakes up screaming for us. I go in and calm him down, telling him that he’s OK, and that his brother and sisters are OK too. I do that once or twice early in the evening, and then around 11pm-12am, he comes in.
Why do I let this happen?
Here’s this little boy, the cutest thing ever, who knows with a child’s certainty, deep down all the way to his soul, with no doubt whatsoever, that his daddy can make the monsters go away.
My G-d, how could I possibly keep him out?
Nothing in my life has ever been as fulfilling as comforting him. Nothing has even come close.