I'm awake, because I've been sick this week and my sleep cycles are wonky as a result (I'm sparing you the ugly details, too). I heard a door open down the hall, and figured we're about to have company.
Medium Fry sleepily stumbled into our room seconds later, her curly hair in disarray and highlighted by the low-wattage hall light.
She climbed onto the end of the bed, by Hubby's feet, and hesitated.
"C'mon up, sweetie," I said with a smile that she probably couldn't see. I let go of Hubby's hand so she could settle inbetween us.
Hubby was half-awake, and felt me release his hand and Medium crawling up between us. "What's wrong, sweetie?"
"Does somefing hafta be wrong fowr me to come in hewre?" Medium mumbled around her thumb.
"What?" Hubby hadn't quite caught that.
"Does somefing hafta be wrong fowr me to come in hewre?"
Stunned silence followed. He'd heard her this time.
"Well...I guess not."
I grinned as he rolled over slightly and lifted his arm, so Medium could come snuggle right next to him and hug his arm if she wanted.
Smart as a whip even when she's half-awake, that one.