Last night, at 4 am, Otto woke up with a weak little cough/cry.
Me: "Ugh. Otto. Go back to sleep."
Otto: "Ack ack waaaaahh ack"
Me: "Please? "
Otto: "Ack ack waaaaah. WAAAAAAHHHH."
I look over at him and he's got his eyes closed but he's obviously upset. I try to stick a boob in his mouth. This is apparently the Most. Offensive. Thing. Ever. The crying is turned up a notch.
I haul my bleary-eyed, grumbling, crazy-haired self out of bed , pick up the whining baby and troop down the hall to the changing table.
The second I lay him down and start unzipping his jammies, Otto stops crying, brings both hands together and gives me the biggest smile ever. Then he starts cooing and doing this little half-giggle thing he's been doing lately.
Freshly diapered, I scoop him up in my arms and he immediately nuzzles his head on my shoulder and wraps an arm around my neck.
Suddenly, being up at 4am is amazingly fine.
I swaddle him up and plod back down the hall and hop into bed. He snuggles up to me, all warm and soft, and nurses back off to sleep.
As I lay there in the dark, listening to the husband's soft breathing and the baby's little nursing hums and sighs I realize that being a sleep-deprived Mama isn't bad. In fact, there's nothing I'd rather be.