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I’m asleep in bed. It’s something like 3 a.m. Suddenly she’s standing beside me, crying.

I groggily ask what’s wrong, not opening my eyes. She says she stubbed her toe. I tell her to go back to bed, she’ll be fine.

She says it’s the Band-Aid toe, the big toe that was bleeding earlier that we put a Band-Aid on and now the Band-Aid is off and she needs a new one.

Eyes still shut, trying to stay in a sleep state, I show my deep sense of empathy and tell her to go back to bed it’ll be fine. She insists it won’t be fine and I feel her rubbing my cheek with the once-on-her-toe-now-in-her-hand Band-Aid to clarify the crisis.

Still half-asleep, eyes closed, I open my heart to Universal Compassion and say again “Go to bed. It’ll be fine.” She continues to weepily make the counter argument that it will not.

I say “I don’t have any Band-Aids right now, go back to bed.”

She then out of nowhere proceeds to rub a new unopened Band-Aid on my cheek. Even half-asleep I give her points for diligence and forethought. I then, in what I will submit on my “Look! Look What A Great Dad I Was” highlight reel, proceed – WITH MY EYES SHUT AND HALF-ASLEEP – to unwrap the Band-Aid, tossing the bits of paper coverings aside like a field surgeon, get her hurt foot in my hand WITHOUT HER FALLING OVER, and delicately – PERFECTLY – get the new Band-Aid wrapped not too loose and not to tight around her big toe.

She then quietly heads back to her bed and I drift back to sleep, both of us victorious.