Last night was a big night for our boy. Apart from the toy box, which awaits a second coat of paint, Paolo's room is officially ready to be occupied. We'd been telling Paolo he was getting his own room, and he was cool with it, as long as we didn't move his bed. He was very firm on that; he was scared to sleep alone. I assumed he'd flip yesterday after school when he saw his bed in his new room, but he didn't. In fact, it was eerily easy putting him to bed last night. With next to no fuss, he fell asleep as I sat beside him.
At about 2:00 in the morning, I awoke to a wild party being thrown by Paolo's flamenco-dancing, hiccuping little brother and, since I was up, I tiptoed to Paolo's room to check on him. I soundlessly opened the door and peered into the darkness. In the glow of the nightlight, I saw Paolo sleeping peacefully in his bed and Sam sacked out with a pillow and blanket on the floor next to him. You know, just in case. In case his little boy should wake up on that first night, disoriented and afraid, he wouldn't have to take a single step to find comfort.
That's what I love about my family, and what I think "family" is supposed to mean: never feeling alone.