One night, I learned exactly what the Bean was afraid of. I heard him whimpering through the monitor, so I quickly tiptoed my way through the dark house to his room.
"I'm sad," he said.
"Why are you sad?"
"You're washing my hair."
"I think you were having a dream, Buddy Boy," I said as reassuringly as I could. "You're in your bed. Put your hand on your hair, it's not wet."
The Bean did just that. Though he still seemed upset and a little bit confused, confirmation of his dry head was enough to make him lay back on his pillow.
"Do you want me to stay in here for a minute?" I asked him.
"No," he said. "I want you to leave now."