You woke me up at 2 a.m. the other night. Your diaper had leaked and you wanted someone to come take the wetness away. I did, of course. The next day, I told your father and he asked, “How long were you up?” I said it was about 45 minutes. That included time for me to wake up and change your diaper and then rock you back to sleep when you started crying again. “He fooled you!” said your father. “Just put him back into his crib and he’ll go back to sleep on his own!”
Your father was on to something, but he didn’t have it quite right. It’s more that I used your crying (which you stopped almost immediately) as an excuse to scoop you up and cuddle you for a while. You weigh over 22 pounds now. You have lost the scary fragility of a newborn. You’re a warm, solid, comfortable weight as you rest your head on my shoulder. But you’re growing up a little more very day. Moments for cuddling you get fewer and farther between and there will come a time when you won’t let me cuddle you at all. I would have been a fool to pass up such a golden opportunity, even if it did arrive at the unpleasant hour of 2 a.m.