There must be a reason my youngest was born with the most mournful cry on earth. I think I know what it is: because if it were any less mournful he would not see any kind of parent figure appear at his crib until 7:30 a.m. Yes, he was born to make this unbelievably sad sound at 1:30 a.m. because no other sound on earth could can pry me from my mattress at that time.
And you know what: I think I could deal with a little crying for a few minutes if I knew his foot wasn't stuck between the slats or he hadn't dropped his blanket overboard. Barring those things I think I would let him cry a minute and he'd go back to sleep.
But then the words start and I turn to jelly.
"...hold you, Mamma! Hold you, Mamma!"
And that's when I leap out of bed and to his side in seconds. And I lift his 36 pounds outta there and I do. Hold him. As much for me as for him. And a couple of minutes later I lay him down and all's well with both our worlds.
I know I'm probably helping him regress his very healthy sleep habits. But one of my sisters (Ja) told me a long time ago "...if one of your children wants you to hold them, why wouldn't you?"
Makes perfect sense to me. Even at 1:30 a.m.