The Olson Boys: A morning with the Olson Boys

I wake up to a small thud. Two little feet are hitting the floor. I hear them shuffle, open the bedroom door and find their way to our hardwood bedroom floor. "Mama, I wanna snuddle wiff you." William is by my side with one fell swoop, yanking my blankets up to his chin and nestling into my shoulder. But not for long. He isn't in a mood to snuggle. He's here to wrestle us awake. Both Zac and I are steam-rolled several times. Finally I open my eyes. "Mama, I luff you! Let's go downstairs!" In a few minutes, I will be asleep again. Zac takes William downstairs, thankfully. I enjoy another half hour of Z's. I'll wake up with Wesley.
I love the sound of Wesley waking up. If you made a "kuh" sound through your nose you might imitate the first sound. It is followed by the most beautiful "gooooo" which always ends in buzzing lips filled with spit. Next is silence. He is scratching at his sheets, already exploring and grabbing for anything to wonder at. Then a little whimper. By that time I am at his crib ready to receive the biggest smile you could ever expect from such a little face. His eyes are wide open, bright. He kicks his legs, squeals, and if I added just a little pixie dust I'm sure he would float right up out of his crib. His head jerks around as I pick him up. There is so much to see.
The first thing he wants to look at is his mobile, hanging where he expected it to be, over his changing table. He jerks his head around to keep staring at it as I sit down on the chair to nurse. After he is satisfied the mobile is still in its place and as interesting as ever, he focuses on my face. Looking involves reaching. A big sigh of relief, Mommy is still here, too. He grabs my lower lip and pulls it towards him with a loud "Ahhhhh!!!" His eyes are so wide I think "How is it possible to not blink for this long?" I talk to him and let him pull on my hair, squeeze my nose and nuzzle his soft head into my neck. Then he dives for my chest, makes a pig-like grunt and pulls on my shirt. I don't need any more hints.
We get down to the business of nursing, but he is still wide-eyed, reaching his free arm up and up towards whatever it can find to grab onto. Usually a piece of my long hair. Sometimes my shirt. Sometimes thin air. His chubby fingers are so little, so soft. I can't resist kissing them and holding them with my free hand. They intuitively wrap around my thumb. He pulls on the thumb like that might be the milk lever. "More, please! I'm starving!"
He keeps staring at me while he nurses like he has been on such a long journey and so surprised to be back here, where it is familiar again. I wish I could ask him about his dreams. Why are you so amazed to see your mobile and me every morning? Where did you go? I smile at him and he giggles, letting milk drip down his chin and neck. I can't resist bending over to tell him, "Du du du," which sends him into a gale of laughter. For a moment he isn't nursing at all, just enjoying the joke. He doesn't forget about nursing, though, and is back to business as soon as possible, still staring, still reaching. I didn't sleep well (again) and haven't had coffee yet so I can't fully appreciate how wonderful this morning is already. It takes a mid-morning sprint to the computer to write it all down and realize, "Wow, I have the greatest two little alarm clocks in the whole wide world."