I awake to a screaming five year old with a bloody lip.
Huh? Whahappened?
Can't remember what I was dreaming about, but it was comforting and soft, and then some foreshadow of trauma crept in (probably when I heard a thud in the other room), and then my eyes popped open.
She's walking into the bedroom, crying, "Mama, mama, I fell out of bed and cut my lip!"
Well, yes, she did. Not only did she fall out of bed for the first time, but on her way down her lip caught on the corner edge of her dresser. A nasty little cut that we bathed with a cool washcloth while we lay in bed, until it eventually stopped bleeding.
I'm half awake through most of it, once I see that she's okay, give or take, and then she tells me more.
"Someone was remote controlling me."
What? I ask.
"Someone was remote controlling me in my bed. I was in my little corner, I was just sleeping. Then someone remote controlled me, and I turned over and rolled out of my bed."
Oh, is that how it happens? Wow. I'm sorry about your bump.
And I'm laughing all under my skin as I come alive to see the day through her eyes.
And I know how it feels to think that someone is remote controlling me, too.
