3am

3am - usually if I'm awake at this hour it's to hunt down a pacifier.  But if I'm being honest, I rarely do that anymore - my hubby is the most awesome paci finder in the world and he jumps on the hunt before I can even roll over and say, "maybe she should cry this one out."

But this morning I awoke for a different reason.  A nightmare.  I can't tell you the last time I had a real nightmare.  The kind where you wake up in a cold sweat and you don't want to go back to sleep for fear of drifting back into the scene you just left.

I lay there for a second listening to the house, the gentle breathing of my husband next to me and even a few murmurs of my baby girl in the next room.  I got up to use the restroom and to try and shake the dream.  I had even managed to bite my bottom lip and draw blood.  It really got to me.  It was too vivid.

As I crawled back in the bed, I told Grant that I had a bad nightmare.  In his less than awake and primarily sleepy state he snuggled up close and told me that everything was fine.  We laced our fingers and fell asleep holding hands.

Goodness gracious, what a night.  Paci hunting at 3am doesn't seem so bad after all.