My poor sweet boy. Every single night he lays awake in bed until he finally asks me to answer the following four questions:
Will spiders crawl in my mouth?
Of course not Honey.
Will I throw up in my bed?
No, you aren’t sick so you will be fine.
Are all the doors locked so no bad guys can get in?
Yes, I checked them all.
Will the smoke detectors go off?
No Honey. (Please God.)
And then he can finally settle in with the reassurance that he is safe and all is well. My poor sweet boy. Scary thoughts are such a nuisance, aren’t they?