About me: he didn't want to go to bed that early
either. She turned on the night-light, she drew
the window shades down. She would stroke my chest,
as she sang a lullaby. Mom always made sure I was
content, so that I slept soundly and had sweet
dreams. That became a more elaborate ritual, as I
grew. Now I didn't need Teddy, but wanted
bedtime stories. Milk or juice became the
refreshment. The window was adjusted to be closed
or more open, she would turn the lamp to dim. Dad
was always arriving later
