In the midst of a fog...Parenting is like Psychological Warfare

So last night my daughter, Rachel, woke me up about 2:00am telling me she was scared. I let her get inside the bed with me and snuggle. Normally she goes to sleep right away, but not last night.

Mental note to self: no more afternoon naps for Rachel!

After struggling to get comfortable, she finally settles in between Joel and me. Several minutes passed and she started to try to kick the covers down. She was apparently getting too warm for her taste. Joel prevented her from kicking the covers down stating that he was cold. "But Daddy! My feet are sweaty!" She started crying in frustration.

I moved her over on the other side of me, so that I was in the middle. We settled down to what I thought would be a quiet rest of the night. I don't know how much time had passed because I'd actually fallen asleep when I heard this small voice say, "Momma, my fingers aren't bony." The fact that I was asleep hindered me from replying right away. So she stated it again, more loudly this time, "Momma, my fingers aren't bony."

Through the fuzz of sleep in my mind came a thought, "You're right. They're perfect the way they are."

Satisfied with my answer, Rachel quieted down for minute. Enough time had passed for me to be on the edge of sleep once again, "No, they're not!" As if this thought needed more assurance in her mind.

My right eye popped open, startled. "You have beautiful little hands and fingers, Rachel."

"Yea, I do." Came her reply with a matter a fact sigh.

I heard a grunt, a snort and a chuckle from my husband beside me. I thought he'd been asleep, but he had quietly been listening to our conversation. "Deep ponderings for the middle of the night." He stated quietly, a smile in his voice and with that he rolled over. Within minutes he was asleep, softly snoring.

I waited expecting some sort of follow-up with this line of thought from my daughter. Hearing nothing, I began to drift into sleep once again. Again, I don't know exactly how much time had passed when I heard, "It looks like a horse."

"What?" I couldn't think. I was sure I hadn't heard correctly. Was she talking about her fingers again? I hoped not.

My daughter sighed impatiently, "The thing on the floor. It looks like a horse."

"Oh, okay." I replied. Good! It's not her fingers. Then a question formed in my mind, "What thing on the floor?" It might be a bug!

"That thing!" She replied, as if no other explanation was needed.

I couldn't stand it. I had to take a look. I got my glasses on and turned on the light, squinting at the general area of where her non-bony finger was pointing. I tried to focus on the small object. Relief flooded me when I realized it was a small part to one of her toys. I flipped off the light and tried to get comfortable.

A minute later Rachel said, "I have to go to the bathroom!"

I tried not to be irritated, but I was getting there quickly, "Okay, go ahead and go."

"I can't! I need the light on."

I reached up and turned on the light I had moments before flipped off. "There, now, please hurry!"

Happily scampering toward the bathroom, she cheerfully said, "Okay!"

I switched the light off once again and rolled over. Once my eyes adjusted to the dark, I realized my husband had a smile on his face. I sighed and asked him, "Are we being trained for the military or perhaps the CIA?"

He laughed, "You mean like training for psychological warfare?"

"Yes."

He laughed harder. "It feels like it, doesn't it?"

Maybe I should stop watching 'The Unit' or reruns of 'Alias' before bed.