A week ago when we kept our grans for the weekend, I let Mackinley sleep on a blow-up mattress on the floor of our bedroom. Fisherhubby chose to stay downstairs on the couch so he'd get a full night of sleep. Smart man.
I had multiple reasons for putting Mackinley in our room - - - most of which are not pertinent to this story, so I shall skip them. The reason that IS pertinent is that I wanted him close to our bathroom when he needed it in the middle of the night.
Very early Sunday morning - - - too early for mere mortals to arise and shine - - - he called out, "Kamma, I need to go to the bathroom!"
"Go ahead," I told him, "and then get right back in your bed."
I heard him take care of business, get back in bed, and then I heard the tossing and turning begin.
"Macky," I said, "Do you want to come up here beside Kamma?"
"OK - - - come on."
He climbed up on my bed, with his stuffed doggy, and began to squirm around trying to get comfortable.
I kept my back to him, hoping he'd think I was asleep and settle in quickly.
Doggy hit the floor.
Macky leaned over the edge to retrieve doggy.
Long pause, then a little voice said, "Kamma?"
"Why are you so old?"
Silence while I tried to think of the appropriate response - - -
"Don't worry," says he, "Mommy's old too."