I’d like to add an epilogue to yesterday’s post where I looked back with fondness at the easiness of my baby. My almost 14-month-old is a different story.
5:00 p.m.: You’re really tired. Put you down for a nap; screamed like Mickey Mouse Clubhouse got cancelled. Fed you dinner instead.
7:30: Bedtime. What an angel! Right to sleep! Looks like we won’t be having the kind of night we’ve had all week.
11:59: Wrong. Stirring. Put your pacifier back in your mouth. All quiet.
12:00 a.m.: More stirring. Put your pacifier back in your mouth. Again.
12:02: Repeat above.
12:03: All hell breaks loose. Did someone break in your room and try to murder Minnie Mouse in front of you? Cause that’s how your acting. Diaper change does nothing to help.
12:06: You shove the bottle Dada tries to give you away.
12:19: Dada and I stand over your crib, cursing you, and asking what we did to deserve this. “This” meaning YOU.
12:20: I figure out it’s karma for writing this. You have done this every night for four nights. I am sick for the hundredth time since your birth. I’m really, really tired. Cat #1 comes in the room and starts meowing at the top of his lungs, because it feels like the right thing to do.
12:26: Wait, do you want to come into our bed? And then, at 12:27 a.m. on November 29th, 2012, a line was crossed: She came into our bed and stared at the ceiling and twirled her hair like she did this every night. She really owned the space.
12:47: You snuggle up close to me, and I consider that between the pumpkin in my arms, the nice man across from me, and Cat #1 curled up inside the number 4-shape my legs are in, this might be the greatest moment of my life.
12:59: I put you back in bed, and you go to sleep. Peacefully. Dada and I embrace like it’s 1945 and the War is over.
1:06 a.m.: Cat #2, who sleeps locked in the office because otherwise she wails like she’s a patient at Briarcliff Asylum all night, begins hurling her entire body weight against the door. Over and over. The loud thud wakes you up, and WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
We start all over.
Posey Pie Productions 
This is soooooo funny (and sad) and well written. Your talent for writing is so very ready for Primetime. Dare I say Sitcom?
Beth!! I didn’t know you read this. You’re kind– how’s Charlie?
I am a big Triple P fan. I may not get to it daily but I always know that I will laugh a little and learn a little when I visit. Charlie is great. He’s cruising and even taking some very nervous steps from time to time, laughing a lot and healthy to boot. On the flip side, I think he thinks his nanny is his mommy. Breaks my heart sometimes.
This is fantastic, laughed aloud! ;-D My boys are older, 5 and 7, but DO I remember this, and it was minus the felines! It gets better, I promise. Until you get an other one 😉
Louise, I’m so glad to hear that! Especially since last night was her first-ever All-Nighter. I kept saying, surely THIS is the hour she falls asleep… but she partied til 5 am!
Hi Liz, poor you! I’ll give you one advice, stop reading books on sleeping, listening to others on what they do. Your baby is yours, she is as she is, because she has been in your womb, and raised by you and your husband. No 2 are the same, not even siblings. TRUST your instinct, you know what is best for your baby, nobody else. If it is holding her in your arms, letting her sleep on her own, whatever, the answer is within you. This applies to everything, not only sleeping. It is good to talk with your friends, relatives, mother etc, lots of valuable advice of course. But cannot say it enough, trust yourself. You know, I promise. Good luck!