(perhaps I shouldn't call him "the baby" anymore, as he's all toddler and little boy and craziness, but seeing as how he doesn't say actually enunciated words yet and still gets his bum cleaned up every three hours, we'll stick with "the baby")
It's a strange dichotomy, this motherhood: the dire need for sleep and the utter inability to lift up one's head that early in the morning, together with the sweet thought of baby breath nestled in your neck and a human pillow to hold.
So, I gave in. After waiting for a few moments to see if the crying would peter out, which of course, it never did, I unhooked myself from the girl who had burrowed her way into our bed, steadied my feet in the extreme darkness, and headed towards his call.
The cuddling was short-lived (there was a need for milk), and the laying back down was traumatic (no mother wants to close the door on a baby who wails, "Mama!"), but within seconds the house was silent again. I made my way back to our room, where the mildly sick husband tried to inch out some free space apart from the sleeping daughter.
All it took was five minutes, if that. I did my job and went back to bed. The five of us content.
|he has a dimple in his chin, wouldn't you know!|