“Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” She yells from her bedroom, insistently, but without fear or urgency.
I peer sleepily at the clock. 4:58. I get out of bed and stumble to her room to the tune of a repeating chorus of high volume calls for me.
“Yes, Fiona!” I say, sleep coloring my voice with gravel, “What do you need, Baby? I’m here.”
“Oh,” She says, “There you are. Okay. I go to sleep now.”
With which words she falls, face first, back into her pillows. Her breathing is steady. Her arms are limp. She is truly sound asleep. I cover her with a blanket and head back to my own bed.
I’m torn between amusement and annoyance, but fall quickly back to sleep.
Was I really needed for that?