Kidy
The big bed arrived this morning, little one, and all day long it was the most exciting thing in the whole house. You bounced on it. You showed everyone. But now the lamp is low and the room is quiet, and the bed has gone and grown enormous, and you are one small dot in the middle of all that blanket.
Growy climbs up to help and immediately sinks into the giant pillow and disappears completely. Two ears stick out. You have to dig Growy out by the paws. 'Well,' says Growy, fluffing itself back into shape, 'that is embarrassing. Also, I have never slept in a bed this big either. So we are both new here.'
Growy sits up and looks around properly. 'Ah. I see the problem. This bed is not too big. It is just brand new, and it does not know you yet. A bed is like a shoe: it has to be worn in. Luckily, there is a trick for that, and only the person who sleeps here can do it.'
So you do the corner trick. You press your hand flat on the first corner and say your own name out loud, and under your palm the corner gives a small warm glow, like a coal in a fire. Second corner: warm. Third: warm. Fourth: warm. Four warm corners, all around you, and they will stay warm all night. 'There,' says Growy. 'The bed is not too big. It is just waiting to learn your shape.'
You lie down in the middle, and the middle is not so far from anything now, because there is a warm corner in every direction. Growy curls up in the crook of your arm, where it fits exactly. 'So, little one,' Growy asks, already sleepy, 'did we grow a little today?' You did. 'Here is your little grow for tomorrow,' says Growy. 'Press your hand on each corner of your bed and say your name. Four times. That is how a bed learns you.' See you tomorrow, little one.