This morning, just after my alarm went off and I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I heard a sound I hear most mornings: my son slowly opening his door, whimpering in his ever constant “I need something but I’m not going to tell you want” whine.
But this morning it was a little different. Normally it only takes him a few seconds to travel from his room to ours. But now his whine seemed sustained, and stationary. And with it an occasional odd squeak. I lay quietly, trying to figure out what he was doing. His whines grew louder. I decided I should get up and see what’s going on before he graduates to full tantrum, which can be hard to come back down from.
What I find is my son, laying on the floor, half conscious, trying to drag his bike out of his room. The handlebars were stuck on the door. He woke up from sleep, walked to the end of his bed, and tried to ride his bike out of his unlit room. The first thing on his mind when he woke up was “I wanna ride my bike.”
I love my son.