Over the weekend, Gertrude picked up the adorable but frustrating habit of awakening at the crack of dawn and plodding into her parent's room for a squirmy, restless, early morning cuddle. The sweet cheek stroking and hugging would last for about five minutes before it degenerated into whiny demands for television, snack foods, beverages, and all of my pillows (not one, but all of them).
I've been trying to be patient with it, because I know it won't last. I was just thinking back to Matilda's days as a cuddly 3-year-old. She used to do the same thing, wake me up wanting snuggles, and more often than not I sent her back to her own bed. I wish I would have cuddled her more when she was small and cuddly, because now getting her out of bed in the morning requires bracing yourself for growling, flailing, and sometimes the baring of teeth.
It's very hard to be patient when you're robbed of the last good hour of sleep before the alarm on a Monday morning.
It's less hard when you open your eyes and see a smiling, bright-eyed little one resting her chin on the edge of your mattress.
It's not fair that they have such power over us. Blame the cuteness.