A sweet, sleeping Skeletor.
Last night, as usual, Skeletor burst into our room around two in the morning, and jumped headlong into bed with us. This is so normal, neither I nor Captain Gingerbeard even moved. However, something kind of special happened this morning when Skeletor woke up. He opened his eyes, yawned and proceeded to tell me about the nightmare he had. He described his sisters as zombies, skeletons sitting in chairs and having tea parties, and a whole monster house. When he finished his story, I did my best caring, consoling mommy routine.
"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry you had a bad dream," I said, as I caressed his hair lovingly.
But then I looked more closely at his face. He was smiling. He was more than smiling, even, he was grinning from ear to ear. Because my child was not describing a nightmare. He was describing what seemed to be one of the best dreams of his life. And, I was touched that he wanted to share it with me, as best he could.
We are new to this whole crazy world of developmental disorders and doctors and therapists. But, we are learning. In fact, we pretty much learn something new about our son and his condition every day. But, today's little peek into Skeletor's world seemed even more intimate than usual. I can't explain it. I can't put it into words. All I can say is that I am thankful for that shared moment with my son this morning. Even though he pushed his tiny, Flinstone feet into my back all night long.