3 a.m.: A little peep awakened me. Annabel, smelling fresh from her bath only a few hours earlier, was standing at my bedside, wide awake but silent.
She raised her arms. I lifted her and she slid effortlessly under the covers beside me.
"Oh, mama. I forgot my water. I'll be right back," she said as she wiggled away, slipping off the bed and back into the darkness. I heard her feet pound confidently through the hallway.
Only a few weeks ago she would have insisted I get out of bed and accompany her on the quest because she was "too afraid."
I didn't ask what brought her in; all I wanted to do was go back to sleep. She returned with her cup and climbed back into bed, settling easily into a comfortable position and became still.
In the morning I asked her why she had gotten out of bed in the middle of the night.
"All the dreams are in this bed. My bed doesn't have any dreams."