At 3 am the small person climbing into my bed says, "I had nightmares, Mum", and I don't even really wake up, just lift the blankets and let her snuggle up. I wake again an hour later, she is nestled in my arms, like she used to when she was a baby, and it's a bit too hot because she is, after all, seven now, but I stick my feet out of the blankets to cool off rather than wake her up. In the morning, she seems fine, and I know that the nightmares are really about Pop-tart being dead, rather than the tornadoes and earthquakes her mind has conjured up for her