I have my niece staying with me tonight for the first time in, oh, half a year? She's just past three and has had two more or less successful stays with me in the past, purely for fun, but tonight I realized she's hit that age where it's scary trying to sleep away from a familiar bed. I left her for about thirty seconds after the whole bedtime spiel, stories and all, and she burst into completely uncharacteristic heart-rending sobs. So finally we struck a deal (and shook on it): that I would lie on the bed and work on my computer (headphones in) while she promised faithfully to try to fall asleep.

Eleven o'clock, almost an hour later, she finally dropped off. Poor kid. The awesome thing about three year olds, though, is that tomorrow she will have completely forgotten the bedtime drama and be desperate to have another sleepover at Auntie Plor's house.

I remember that feeling, though, that adrift lost feeling of being alone at nighttime, in the darkness, in a place that -- it's more than unfamiliarity. It's that sense of being unknown yourself, like being away from the anchor of parents (and grandparents, as she spends one or two nights a week at my parents' house) put you at risk of being lost forever in the night. I was awful at sleepovers up until about nine or ten, always was the kid who sobbed until morning. It's odd, now, and amazing, seeing this little person emerge out of three years of infancy, this little being who has an imagination for fears and delights and everything between.

Anyway, that's me tonight: the doting auntie.