Last night, Jones woke up about 12:30 and wasn’t too keen on going back to his crib, so I laid a pillow and blanket on the floor and had him lay down with me. (Just so you don’t feel like my toddler is better than yours, LOTS happened between me laying down and him joining me, including several conversations about the books and cars he could not play with, all which ended with me having to help him lay his head on the pillow and say “no” repeatedly as he tried to get up. Just keepin’ it real, like Pioneer Woman says to.) We ended up laying like that for an hour, face-to-face, listening to lullaby-hymns from his CD player and whispering (a new thing) about eyes, noses, Elmo, baby Simon, mama’s baby in her tummy, and (of course) cars and trucks. After five-minute, two-minute, and one-minute warnings, he happily went into his crib and said night-night to me as I closed his door. I went to bed thinking, “That was perhaps one of my favorite moments with my son thus far.” Who knew midnight wakings could be such blessings?