The Rock Star usually falls asleep in our bed. Otherwise, the boys have a party which involves loud, hysterical laughter. When we go to bed, we move him.
Typically I snuggle with him while he falls asleep. Because, you know, he's going to grow up and smell weird and have arm pit hair and go to college. Like tomorrow.
Tonight, he cuddled into my arms and whispered, "Goodnight, Cutie."
I intend to remind him of this. When he's twenty. And smells like a man. And has arm pit hair.