In the early morning, Grace is a mommy-seeking missile. Her normal time for rousing is around 6am, give or take thirty minutes or so. We hear her moan and complain incoherently in her room for a few beats, then we hear her tiny toddler feet slap-slap-slap down the hardwood floor of the hall toward our room as she half-asleep wails, "Mommymommymommymommymommy..." She climbs into our bed and my arms, curling up so that the curve of her tiny spine nestles against my ever-rounder belly, and the largely unintelligible grumbling quiets into peace as she falls back into a deeper sleep. My eyes barely open through the whole process but I feel her warm, perfect toddler skin and smell her sweet hair fresh from her bath the night before and hear the breath slowly whooshing in and out of her diminutive lungs. She sleeps for another hour or so, and although I am so OVER all-night cosleeping at this stage of pregnancy, it seems a flawlessly restful, somnolent hour. When she finally awakens, she asks me, "Are we awake?" When I answer in the affirmative, she contradicts me in a sing-song treble, "No, not yet!" and snuggles in for a few more moments of her fleeting toddlerhood.