Sweet Dreams

Wake up time may vary, and Drake can wake up in a variety of moods, but one thing about our morning routine has been consistent for close to a year now. Since Drake started putting together phrases and short sentences, our first exchange of the day has gone like this:

"Liiiitle Muuuunchkiiin..." as I peek around the door to greet him in his bed. Drake bounces on the mattress, clinging to the red railing and smiling behind his binky. "Good morning my handsome Little Man."

"Moneen, Mommy."

"Did you sleep good?" I ask, as I lift him out of his bed. He wraps his legs around my waist and lays his head on my shoulder, nodding.

"Mm, hm."

"Did you have sweet dreams?" I ask, carrying him to the couch for our morning cuddles.

"Mm, hm."

"What did you dream about?" And then this is my favorite part...

Every day, for who knows how many months now, Drake has responded the same way. "I dweam," he says between yawns, "in my bed."

And that's it. That's all I get. I still have no idea what it is my Little Man dreams about, but there can be no doubt that he does so in his bed. 

Some days start better than others...

Some days, my husband has his first flight at 9 a.m. instead of 7, and he has time enough to sit in bed and read to me as we have our first cup of coffee.

Some days, my son asks to read a book first thing in the morning, rather than watch a movie or cartoon.

Some days, that same little boy takes that same book and impresses the heck out of me. He looks at the cover of his favorite book, Green Eggs and Ham, points to the word "Eggs" and says, "E right dere!" Smiling, I point out the G, and he says "gapes," remembering the picture of grapes behind the letter G in his alphabet puzzle. Same with the H: "heeppo!" I fall further in love with the way his little brain works.

Then, to top it off, he opens the book to a random page and says, shaking his head, "Not a box. Not a house. Not a fox. Not a mouse. Nope! Sam. No. No geen eggs and ham."

Some days, my heart gets filled up right from the start. Filled with gratitude and pride.

I think it's going to be a good day.

What's in a Cry? {All Parents are Bi-Lingual}

It's 5:34 a.m. and the cry peels through the monitor. After nearly two years of the midnight call, I don't exactly startle out of bed. I slowly blink away sleep, but my body weighs heavy on my mattress. I lay there for a moment listening to the sound of my crying son and then whisper, "Baby? What do I do?"
It's decision making time.
You see, my son has essentially two different midnight cries. One sounds like, "WAAAAaaa..AAAaaaahh.... WAaaahh...... waaah.... wa......," which translates roughly to, "HEY! I woke up alone! I guess that's normal, but I don't really like it.... Mom?... Hello?... ZZzzzzzzzzzzzz." The second type of cry sounds more like, "WaaaaEEEHHHH! WaEH! WA! WA! WaaaaaEEEHHHH!" and means essentially, "Something is wrong! (Examples: "My teeth hurt!" or "I'm cold!") And I'm not going back to sleep until it's fixed!"
It is up to us, The Toddler Translation Division - otherwise known as "parents" - to decipher the sounds and proceed accordingly. Is he in pain or just protesting? Should we give it a moment or go check on him? He may fall back asleep... Should we try a bottle? Does he need medicine?
And then there are nights like last night, which present their own unique challenge. Our toddler may choose to practice his range of expressive abilities, resulting in something like this: "WAAAAaaaa....... WaEH!... WAAaaaaa... WAAaaaa... WaEH! WaEH!" Our best intelligence at this point understands this to mean, "I woke up alone! Oh, and my teeth hurt, now that I think about it. OWIE! But I am really tired... maybe I'll go back to sleep... NO! This hurts!! I don't like it! FIX. IT. NOW!! But I am really tired...."
In such a case, choosing the proper course of action becomes a matter of blind chance. Was that "tired"...? or "wired"...? If you take the time to fumble around for your pajamas, stumble upstairs and prepare a bottle, he very well may have chosen sleep by the time you reach his door. If, on the other hand, you choose to let him sort it out on his own, this could last all night. In which case, no one is getting any sleep. It's roulette. 50/50. Red or black. Dumb luck.
Last night, I chose to fumble and stumble. I bet a trip upstairs and ten minutes in the rocking chair that my son really did want to sleep. I won. The payout: me and my bed for three more hours.
Being bi-lingual is good, but being lucky is awesome.
That was two nights ago. In the small hours of this morning, my husband was not so lucky. Sorry, honey.

these are the moments...

Our poor, sweet boy woke up sad this morning. He's been teething again, and I think the discomfort woke him up before he was actually ready to be done sleeping. Sleepy and sad, he needed some cuddles. I was, of course, happy to oblige. I scooped him up with his blanket and his Lovey and joined Daddy on the couch. Daddy wrapped his arm around us both and said, "Good morning, family."
There it was, Emily. The moment to hold on to. Moments that will be gone before I know it. Moments with a sweet, chubby little boy in a diaper. Moments in the quiet morning with just Mommy and Daddy and Drake. Moments when life feels complete and perfect.
Five minutes later, his diaper rode up without me realizing and he peed all over me and the couch.