Our Little Alarm Clock

Back in his carefree youth, Max was a boy who enjoyed sleeping in. He would generally start stirring at around eight or eight thirty, grumble quietly to himself until someone tended to him, and then slowly display readiness to get up and face the day around nine. This coincided beautifully with his parents' schedules, as neither one of us is an early riser. We were, in fact, congratulating ourselves on the unique bond of laziness we all shared. Recently, however, Max has displayed unnatural tendencies to not only wake increasingly early, but to be ready to party immediately when he does. I have tried convincing him to nurse back to sleep, to snuggle back to sleep, anything and everything other than simply resigning myself to getting up. Max has countered with high-pitched singing, peeing the bed, and pulling on his dad's chest or armpit hairs. The other morning, I put him in his little bed to play for a while and tried to doze back to sleep. Through my stupor, I kept hearing this grunting noise, which I tried for a while to ignore. Finally, curiosity made me open my eyes, whereupon I beheld Max, freshly rolled over on his tummy, grinning at me. Look at the gleam in his eye as he learns that, once again, he is too cute to resist, no matter how early the hour.