The Look

Every morning Brayden calls from his bedroom - generally for Baba (Katy) or Gauck (Milk), or that he has pooped. Katy or I will call(it could be construed as more like a shout) for him to come on in. We hear Brayden's feet hit the floor and come running into our room. He then will go over to K's side of the bed and be hauled up onto the bed. At this time we are always kind of hoping for him to go back down for 20 or 30 minutes. Most times, though, he is up.

That means we are too. He will start climbing around and usually end up crawling off the bed, requesting Gauck. Then he will come over to my side of the bed. I see a pair of small hands slap and grab onto the sheet - inches from my face, followed quickly by Brayden's face as he pushes his nose up to almost touch mine. He has a furrowed brow - and an indescribable look that is concerned, hopeful, expectant, and communicates everything. Then he will utter "Gauck" repeatedly, until he gets milk. It's not as if he has ever failed to receive milk - every morning of his life. It is hard to imagine something more consistent.

I've thought about getting a little mini refrigerator and sticking it in his room, so maybe we could get a couple of extra minutes of sleep. But then again, I wouldn't get to see "the look" every morning of the world - and to tell the truth, I think I would miss it.