Lucy woke up twice last night.

The first time, around 9 p.m., I went upstairs to find her standing in her crib, glowing in the moonlight. Her eyes were round and dewy. Pleading. “Up. Up. Up.” Into my arms. She points to her blanket. Then to the rocking chair in the corner.

Oh. She wants snuggles. Not to be put back into that cold crib.

How can I resist a request like that? She hardly sits still for more than three seconds while awake, so of course I will rock you back to sleep, my sweet angel Lucy Goosey sugar snuffle wuffles babykins.

We enjoy a soft cuddle in the chair, her legs wrapped around my hips, her cheek on my chest, both of us warm under the blanket.

Five hours later, she’s awake again, and I boot Eric out of bed to see what could possibly be so earth shattering at 2 a.m. to warrant waking up the entire house. He is in and out in two minutes, and Lucy quickly settles right back to sleep.

No pulling the woe-is-me-look-at-my-doe-eyes-I-NEED-snuggles with Daddy, huh, kiddo?

I’m torn whether to be envious that he gets the quick fix, or proud that she wants extra Mummy time.

I think I pick the latter.

Possibly related posts:

1. Screw (no, %$&*#@) you, wind
2. A day in the life of us
3. No, we’re not doing laundry upstairs. That’s just my baby in the dryer.
4. Proof
5. The new baby on the block