Baby woke up too early for us one morning last week. We pulled him into our bed hoping to lull him back to sleep with a spell cast by our own exhaustion. Baby was not lulled, he was ready to play. We tried to ignore him. We tried to snuggle him into quiet-time. Soon Baby had his head on my belly and his feet on my husband's belly. Then I heard a little voice in the dark: Baby saying his version of "thank you." Over and over again. I know his understanding of those words is rudimentary, but I like to think that Baby was thanking us in advance for waking up and playing with him before the sun was officially above the horizon. So you're welcome, Baby. You are always welcome, my little goofball.
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