Jim had always been a heavy sleeper, but since Cece had been born, he’d been sleeping more and more lightly.
So when the screams started, he bolted up quickly.
“Pam,” he said, automatically. “Pam.”
He turned toward her side of the bed, finding it empty. Confused, Jim shook his head, his brain still working to catch up to sudden consciousness.
“Right,” he said aloud. She was away for a few nights, staying at her father’s following his bypass surgery. He clambered out of bed and grabbed for a t-shirt.
“Mommy!”
Jim ran down the hall and into Cece’s room. She was thrashing around, her legs getting tangled in the hippo sheets on her big girl bed.
“Mommy!” she screeched again.
He rushed to the bed and scooped her up on to his lap, untangling her and drawing her close to his chest as he tried to control her churning arms and legs.
“Hey, hey, baby,” he murmured in soothing tones, trying to coax her gently out her nightmare. “Hey, little girl, shhhh, it’s okay. Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you, baby.”
Her nightgown was soaked with sweat as he rubbed her back in small circles, her auburn curls tangled and plastered to her face. Jim took deep breaths, his throat tightening as Cece sobbed and hiccupped her way to consciousness in her father’s arms.
He wondered what sort of nightmare had plagued his little girl, wanting to cry a little himself at the sight of her. Pete had accused him of being “whipped by a three-year-old,” but she was his baby. So as his amazing wife (god, he missed her; even three days apart was too long) said, Pete could suck it.
“Daddy?” Her voice was small and pitiful.
“Yeah, baby,” he soothed, rocking her. “Daddy’s got you. Did you have a bad dream?”
Cece hiccupped and blew her nose on his t-shirt. “Mean dog ate Mommy,” she informed him, her eyes filling up again.
Was this because Pam had been away overnight? Jim was immediately plagued with guilt. He should have suggested her father stay with them while he was recuperating, or volunteered to go himself so Pam could be with Cece, or hired a nurse.
Logically he knew nightmares were a normal part of childhood and nothing horribly traumatizing, but when his baby was curled up in his lap at 1 in the morning, sweaty and shaking, Jim wanted only to make it stop.
“No,” he murmured. “No. Mommy’s visiting Grandpa. There’s no mean dog, baby. Mommy’s fine. You’re fine too. Cece’s fine.”
When she’d calmed down, he stripped his daughter and the bed, giving her a quick sponge bath with a cool washcloth and braiding her damp hair to keep it from sticking to her, then changed the sheets and put her in a fresh nightgown.
“I want to sleep in your bed, Daddy,” she pleaded as he tucked her back in, looking at him so imploringly with her big blue eyes that he almost said yes. But he and Pam had been making an effort to not indulge Cecelia when they shouldn’t, not wanting to raise a spoiled child.
“No, baby,” he told her. “You have to sleep in your own bed. But I’ll stay right here until you fall asleep.”
He sat beside her and stroked her head, hoping to lure her into good dreams.
“Sing my song, Daddy,” she begged, her voice sleepy.
That he could do. She cuddled against him, resting her cheek against his thigh as he sang:
You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray.
Chapter End Notes:
It crossed my mind for Cece's song to be, of course, "Cecelia," but then I remembered that my father used to sing "You Are My Sunshine" to me when I was a baby, so I liked that one.
