I fell out of bed alot as a kid. It's a wonder I'm not still doing it, considering how much practice I got growing up. Often I would wake up after the tumble and decide that getting back into bed was just too much work, so I'd just stay there. I was also a big sleep-talker. Still am, I think, although these days my husband is WAY too tired to be woken up by my mumblings.
So I wasn't too surprised by the events that transpired last night. She is my kid, after all.
I was awoken by a plaintive cry heard through the crackling monitor: "My bunny is stuck! My bunny is STUUUUUCK!" Not knowing what bunny she was speaking of and where he could be stuck, I hurried into her room to survey the situation. Picture, if you will, a darkened room...an empty bed...and E, sitting on her giant stuffed dog that lays on the floor as a cushion, holding one of his floppy ears and tugging furiously on it, with that unfocused look of someone not quite conscious. I burst out laughing.
Then I scooped her up and placed her back into bed, explained that there was no bunny and gave her her stuffed strawberry instead. She was back to sleep before I left the room, and when I told her about it this morning, she burst out laughing too. I just hope I don't find her sleepwalking into my room looking for cigarettes in my purse in a few years. Not that I ever did that. Let's also hope she doesn't inherit that bedwetting habit I didn't have.