Last night was one of those nights. You know, one of those nights you think you're done with when your kid turns 6 or 7 months old and you've read Dr. Weissbluth cover to cover and done the sleep training thing and--by G-d--it worked?!?
Yeah? Well, last night our angelic 25 month old channeled her inner 2 month old, waking up every hour or so. Only, instead of whimpering for boobie, she would call out--in clear, increasingly loud tones, "Mommy! Ma-Ma! Ma-Maaaaaaaa! I wanna cuddle in the chair with Ma-Ma! I wanna cuddle in the dark! Da-Da! Daddymommy! Mommmmmeeeeeee!"
Overcome with exhaustion by 4:30am, I gave in and brought her to our bed, first eliciting a promise that she would "sleep quietly with no talking." A promise so quickly broken. I was poked and prodded. My hair was pulled and twisted. My pillow was stolen and returned damp with drool.
And then the cat went apeshit, tearing around the bedroom like there was a bonafide mouse in the house (which there wasn't). And so went any lingering hopes of getting Z to sleep. Josh was an angel, though. He took Z downstairs for some early morning PBS Kids so that I could sleep from 5:30 to 6:20.
Lucky Adriana. I'm sure Z will be a real treat at day care this morning.
