Rachel slept with me last night. Or, I guess, more correctly, I slept with her. It was my bed, but she totally owned it -- stretching out like a starfish across the majority of the space. I had an area approximately 18 inches by 4 and a half feet in which to contort my 5 foot 10 inch body.
She woke sometime after 3 a.m because of a nightmare. I cuddled her and smoothed the hair off her forehead and reassured her that it was only a dream and that she was safe with me and that nothing bad could happen to her. I asked her what she had been dreaming about, and her answers were so very Rachel. She always has to ensure that you understand *exactly* what she's trying to say, and that everything is as precise as possible. Remember that as you read our conversation:
Rachel (crying): Mommy, is someone going to steal me?
Me: Of course not, Rachel. It's just a dream, you're safe in bed with Mommy. No one is going to steal you. I'm going to keep you forever.
Rachel: Are you sure?
Me: I'm sure. I'd beat up anyone who tried to steal you. Can you tell me about your dream?
Me: What happened in your dream?
Rachel: Well, I got stolen.
Me: Who stole you?
Rachel: A man in black. Or very, very dark blue.
There was more to it of course, but at that point one part of me had dissolved in giggles while the other part was intent on comforting her. Eventually, the story all told, she put her arms around my neck, aimed a sleepy kiss at my mouth, and rolled over, secure in the knowledge that I would keep any black- (or very dark blue-) clad men from stealing her.