It's 7 and we've been up for an hour. That doesn't make me happy. She's getting up earlier and earlier and the last few mornings have been 6 on the nose... and ...no, she is not sleeping in her big girl bed... that's a whole other story but after two good nights and two, bad, I decided maybe I didn't care if she stayed in a crib FOREVER and had a cluttered room with two beds. Maybe all I really cared about was keeping the FABULOUS bed-time routine we had- "time for ni-night Sophia", she runs to crib, we boost her in, "ni-night", shut door, see you in twelve hours. Loved it. So we bagged the bed, figured we'd go the weak route and minimize challenges pre-baby. Felt good about our two steps back.
And then we went to Utah last week. She had climbed out of her playpen before, but always with furniture near-by to assist. This time it was graceful and assist-less. So she skipped two days of naps in Utah due to constant wandering, which doesn't sound like a big deal- but made me realize I quite possible AM crazy, and a schedule Nazi, and just about lost my mind when I lost that control. Pretty sure Ross was frightened to be married to me, non-sleeping toddler mixed with pregnancy hormones and all. The worst of it was the night before our early return flight home. She decided to hop out at 2:30 in the morning and play- with us- while we tried to sleep. So for 2 and a half hours she bounced around the bed poking us, playing the drums on Ross's chest, sitting on my throat, draping her body across my face such that I couldn't breath and trying to escape the room because she was "hundadee" (hungry). It was the most helpless feeling, what could we do? There was no where to contain her, except for the room we were in. Unless we wanted to lock her in the bathroom or something--- but then where would I go for all the 15 minute increments remaining in the night? And that seemed cruel.
So after sleeping from 5-6, we woke up and headed to the airport exhausted-- all three of us, arrived home in time for the second session of conference on Sunday to a house with a heaven-sent crib. I crossed my fingers that she hadn't developed the confidence to climb out of that too. Imagine our happiness when she went down like usual for a nap, slept for four hours, called sweetly for us to come get her, and went to bed just as happily two hours after that.
But then imagine my depression when she came strolling in to our bedroom at 6 am the next morning.
No. I say to myself in utter sadness. She can climb out. It's official. I'm pretty sure this is when you're not supposed to fight the big-girl bed transition anymore and just deal with the fact that some things might change. I used to think I was good at change. Hmm. So the nap yesterday? Another failure. And it's a very good thing that nobody but strangers at Target came into contact with me. I was not a happy camper. Especially when Target didn't have the childproof door-knob covers I needed, "go ahead and check online" Sylvia says. Do I look like a woman with a week's worth of patience for shipping?
So when I got home I had the brilliant idea of switching door knobs between the master and Sophia's room to get a lock on the outside of her door. It worked! With only one minor incident. I may have locked myself in my room with no phone with the door knobs fallen out of place for about 15 minutes crying in frustration and guilt while Sophia cried on the other side-- I really thought I was going to have to run out to a neighbor's through the back door and call Ross to come home while staring at Sophia through a window or something. Luckily I had Ross's tool box and finally got it open. Sigh. And I think my story's almost over. Rebecca, just never direct Levi my way. (He hates longs posts.)
So bed-time was fine... that is after I put her in her crib. The big-girl bed was the first attempt and upon finding the locked door, she went crazy. She screamed for about 25 minutes with one intervention, and then I put her in her crib and she went to sleep, only to try the lock this morning at 6. A bit calmer after a good night's sleep, the whining was softer and sporadic... but mixed with her new cough, we only had the heart for about 12 minutes before we brought her in our bed to watch that Spanish show on PBS. (The English PBS kid’s shows don't start 'till 6:30. That's how I know 6 am is *universally just too early. *Well I guess more like nationally.... Culturally? Whatever. It's too early in our house.)
This is one of those posts where I feel the need to remind, this is also my journal-- and I know all these details must bore some to death, or at least to avoidance. But they've consumed my thoughts and I can't seem to write anything down without writing them. I guess it's no secret that my life right now is not much more than the sum of pregnancy and toddler joys and challenges. Good things that's more than enough.