at 4 a.m.

Sniffle... whimper... wail... "I don't know what thumb to suck."

A little voice and a little leg thrashing under the sheet pull me rudely out of my sleep stupor. (How did he get in our bed? And when?)

"What?" I say.

"I don't know what thumb to suck," he cries. "Turn the light on for me."

"It's the middle of the night. You don't need the light."

"I do. I need it. I don't know what thumb to suck."

I fumble for the light. Liam squints and holds his thumbs up close in front of his eyes and studies them for what seems like forever.

"Just pick one, honey," I say.

He glances at me as if he he's surprised I'm there, pops the left thumb in his mouth, grabs his blankie, rolls over and begin rhythmically breathing as if he was never even awake.

Um, okay, that was weird.