What the Tuck?

I miss things that we never even did together. The other night in my dreams I tucked him in, pulling the blankets up to his neck as his legs wiggled in that way your legs will do when you find yourself between clean, crisp linen on a cold night. He closed his eyes and smiled in his ever-loving way, shrugging his shoulders up into a snuggle before relaxing under the warm, soft weight of his rainbow blanket. I leaned over him, drawing my face close to his, stopping just shy of his cheek to whisper, "I love you Jared, forever." I breathed in deep, then kissed him on the cheek, and he was warm, and he was soft, and most of all he was real. His cheek was as soft, alive, and reachable as the three cheeks I had kissed earlier that night while tucking in my own children.

I don't recall ever tucking him in before, so why would I give any number of things in trade to do so just once for real?