Ever since Grant has learned how to escape his crib, any time he wakes up in the night he clambers out and pads up to our room. Sometimes he wakes up while we are still awake and downstairs, and we listen to him thud to the ground and thunder like an elephant down the hallway and up the stairs.

When he arrives, he skirts around the bed to my side and pats me insistently. I sit up and let him crawl in, then shove him further over (because he always chooses the exact center of my pillow to rest his head). The last few nights as I’ve settled back down and fluffed the duvet around us, he’s said “mama? Mom? I love you mom.” And any thought I had of carrying him back to his own bed drifts away as I say “I love you too baby.” He doesn’t let me call him “baby” most of the time, now. He says “I’m not a baby! I’m Grant!” See also “I’m not a lovey! I’m Grant!” But when he’s relieved that he’s sleeping in the big bed, he lets it go.

Of course I regret not taking him back after he drives his sharp little heels into my back repeatedly, but that little “I love you mom” really does wonders for him. And for me.

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