My seven-year-old son had begged for a sibling for years, so when his baby sister Brenda was born, I thought his sudden obsession with sleeping under her crib was sweet. Then one night, I heard him whisper something through the baby monitor that made me stop in the hallway.

“Ben, what are you doing?”

He blinked up at me.

“You have a bed, you don’t have to sleep here.”

“I know.”

“An actual bed.”

He shrugged.

“I like it here.”

I assumed it was sweet.

Our son had waited years for a sister, and now he wanted to protect her.

My mother-in-law, Diane, disagreed.