Squish woke up crying the other "morning" (at about 4, which hardly feels like morning). When my husband wasn't able to soothe him, I picked up dear little Squish and said, "Do you want to go rock in the rocking chair?"
He said, "yeah."
So, to the rocking chair we went. After some calm rocking and quiet snuggles, Squish seemed restless again.
I cannot for the life of me remember why, but that was when I went to the couch. Perhaps it was simply a desperate attempt to lie down again. The rocking chair is nice, but when it's still dark outside, lying down to sleep is nicer.
Squish cuddled under a blanket with me on the couch for a little while, and then apparently, he thought that it was time to get up. It was 4:40. I disagreed.
So, assuming I could sleep-parent him, I stayed on the couch under the blanket and closed my eyes as Squish toddled into the kitchen.
The next thing I heard was a deep, gravelly rolling sound. The sound of something coming toward me.
The next thing I saw was Squish riding out of the kitchen on his toy firetruck.
As he drove past me, I remembered the playdate we had had this past weekend. The mom said that her two-year-old had been waking up around 5 am for the past couple of months.
My husband responded with sympathy and said, "Oh, [Squish] was doing the same thing to us for a while, and then he just stopped."
Which must have been when Squish The Rascal hatched his little plan to wake before the sun on a Monday morning.