Sunday, February 24, 2013

The Times, They are a Changin'

Wednesday night at 5am, I wake up to hear my daughter screaming the roof off, three stories up.

I turn to my wife, who I know can't be asleep with that going on. I ask accusingly, "Did you go in to check on her?"
Yes.
Shaking my head, I get up, sing Princess a song for all of 30 seconds, and she's fast asleep again.

Joy adds:
For the longest time, the only way I could calm her down was to carry her for a long, long time. She just won't calm down. Then when I decided she was old enough that she needed to get herself back to sleep, I would not go in to try to comfort her. If she was upset long enough, I would risk her wrath and go in and try to help her, in case she was actually hurt or needed something desperately besides sleep. When I left, Princess would become hysterical, worse than she was before I had gone in, even though she calms down while I am in there. So I started letting her cry instead of going in to comfort her because she was worse off when I did. Derrill could always go to her, immediately comfort her, and she'd try to go back to sleep.
Falling asleep at the table due to jet lag
Daddy magic. Finally when we started weaning her, I told Joy she was not only inclined, but forbidden from going in to put her to bed. (That was only because Joy finally made it clear to me what she just explained to you. Where have I been?)

Joy apologized later that day, reminding me that the late night hours have typically been mine and the early morning hours are hers ... and that I did just get back from the clinic for two bags of IV fluids ... and I had just had a horrible night before.

All true. Yes, you were very thoughtful, dear. Please don't do that again. I've got Princess all night long.