Sticking with the nightly routine, Tucker called me from his bedroom in the middle of the night. Oh, around 3 AM.
I staggered down the hall, groggy and barely putting one foot in front of the other. He typically just needs to see me, tangibly hold my hand for a moment or two, and then we're both free to get back to sleep. But this time, he had a bone to pick.
As I approached his bedside, he said, "Mommy, no bite!"
Wait. What are we doing? "What?"
"Mommy bit me. Not nice. Don't bite Tucker."
He wagged his finger at me in protest, and then he proceeded to mimic the action, putting his finger in his mouth and chomping down. Not hard enough to hurt himself, but enough to prove his point. He would prefer that I not bite him again.
(I've never bitten Tucker.)
It was all a dream. He was very insistent, reprimanding me for my behavior, and only willing to go back to sleep when he felt I had learned my lesson. He gave me a very stern talking-to while I tucked him in again and returned to my bed while the sheets were still warm.
Today, I asked him about it. "Tuck, did you have a dream last night?"
"Are you sure? Something about Mommy? And your finger?"
"Nooo." He acted as if I had asked if he slept with the dinosaurs last night. No way, silly.
Classic case of a dream so real, he was mad upon waking. At me.