Gideon suddenly went off like a mousetrap, bolting upright in the bed next to me. He let out a soft whimper and rubbed at his face with the back of one hand.

“Hey…” I reached out and pat him on the shoulder. “What’s wrong, little man?”

His eyes wandered around the room and then passed through me to stare blurrily at the wall. “Me have bad dream, Dad…” he pouted.

“Oh no,” I frowned, trying to seem convincingly sad. Secretly, I was pretty excited to hear what sort of nonsense this kid could possibly turn into a nightmare. His brain eats a steady diet of legos, Paw Patrol cartoons, and plastic farm animals. What could he possibly turn into a bad dream? “So… um. What happened in your dream?”

He leaned into me and sighed, “Me was eaten by a Giraffe…”

Yep. There it was.

“Eaten by a giraffe?! Wow. That sounds like fun actually. Did he lift you up in the air?”

“No. He just…” And the little boy made a motion like he was trying to put his head down between his knees and then made a Chomp-Chomp sound.

“Oh wow… Just like that huh? …pretty cool.”

“Me guess so,” he said thoughtfully.

We sat quietly for a few more moments.

And then he suddenly stood up and bounced to the edge of the bed, apparently no longer traumatized by the giraffe encounter. “Okay. Me gonna go tell mom about my cool dream now!” he yelled over his shoulder as he charged down the hall.