>There Were Two in the Bed and the Little One… Coughed

Unexpectedly, one of the best parts of running away for a week is getting to sleep in the same bed as my three-year-old daughter. Right now, we’re at my dad and stepmom’s river house, sharing a queen-sized loft bed each night (Bruiser, my “sensitive sleeper,” has been relegated to a pack n’ play placed in the farthest regions of the other loft room), and, except for the thirty minute deep-sleep-slugfest I endure from her each night at around three am (must be a REM thing), it’s all good.

Sometimes, half-asleep, she’ll place one palm against my cheek. Other times, she’ll pick up my arm and place it over her side. Last night, she had a coughing episode off and on for about an hour. Half asleep, she still managed to realize that her face was just a few inches away from mine, and cough into the sleeve of her pajamas rather than coating my cheek with a fine mist of preschooler spit. So adorable, I thought. Always mindful of loogies, even in her sleep.

Thirty minutes later, the kid was still coughing. And I was wide awake. I sat in bed for a moment, staring down at her and trying to think of what to do (damn that FDA, denying our children their cough medicine!), before finally resorting to scratching her back lightly, hoping to lull her into a deeper sleep. Eyes still closed, she smiled.

“Do you like that?” I whispered. She nodded. After a few minutes of that, she turned over onto her back.

“That’s enough scratch,” she mumbled, and promptly fell into a deep sleep. The coughing spell was over.

It’s not exactly the most restful week of sleep I’ve ever had in my life, but it’s definitely one I’ll remember for a long time to come.

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.