Return of the Phantom Baby

The nighttime weirdness continues. (See this post if you don't know what I'm talking about.) Last Wednesday night I remember climbing over Billy to get to the other side of the bed and grabbing a shirt that was on the floor, thinking it was a baby. I kept patting it over and over, thinking, "It's the right shape for a baby, but why is it flat?" Then in a panic I thought one of us had rolled over on it and that's why it was flat. I continued searching for the baby again on my side of the bed, found another shirt and again wondered why it was flat. (Maybe we shouldn't leave clothes lying around.) So strange.

Then last night I remember thinking one of the babies had a scrubbing sponge stuck in its mouth. The kind with the little bristles, like this:

I woke up pulling at Billy's face, thinking his whiskers were the bristles of the sponge. I haven't asked him yet if he remembers. I think I am worried about the babies choking on things. It's funny to think about now, but during the moment it's always very distressing. These phantom babies are disrupting my sleep more than the real ones.