The night was dark and silent as the small hand ticked past four.
The house was filled with nothing but the hubby’s peaceful snore.
When piercing through the darkness came a terrifying shriek,
I startled to my senses far too zombified speak.
Unconsciously shot upright as my feet swung to the floor,
And padded automatically towards the bedroom door.
Not quite yet fit to function at this frightful side of dawn,
I creaked on with my eyes half shut and stifling a yawn.
I shuffled down the hallway in a state of half undress.
The fearful sound repeated now with urgency and stress,
My little ‘twoodler’ needed me, his call reached through the gloom.
My pulse began to quicken as I burst into his room!
And as I flicked his light on his distress became quite clear,
At last his urgent shouting was deciphered by my ear…
His frantic call for help was just one word in fact:
He offered me his finger.
And a gift.
I should have been more grateful as he’d picked it just for me.
A treasure from his feat of nasal archaeology.
But all that I could do was stand and blink and shake my head.
I turned the light off silently and sloped back off to bed.
And so, a little message to my over-generous tot:
We do not share at 4am.
… and certainly not snot.
I don’t mean to be hurtful and it really was so kind.
But next time if you’d keep it please I really wouldn’t mind.