At 6:30 this morning, I heard her. Shuffle, shuffle, stomp stomp stomp, as she climbed out of bed and ran across on the noisy wood floor, headed — I don’t know where.
“Sophie?!” I called.
“I get up by myself!” she announced.
I coaxed her into my room and she climbed in bed with me. We cuddled for a while. 6:30’s not so unreasonable (though she just announced she’s tired) but I’m seeing a scary pattern. Tomorrow, 6? By next week, midnight?
And by March, all-night parties?