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My baby could only be perfect for so long.

The last few nights, Abby has abandoned her routine of sleeping in until 10:00 in favour of waking up between 4:00 and 5:00 AM and screaming bloody murder until one of us goes in to get her.  Once she has trapped a parent, she refuses to go back to sleep unless it is in our room, tucked into our warm, comfy, and (up until that moment) baby-free bed.

What…

… the…

… fudge.

She’s been so perfect.  She has slept like a dream since she was six weeks old.  All mothers wanted her.  All babies wanted to be her.  I just figured that would continue until she was eighteen and ready to go to university; I don’t think that’s too much to expect.

I’m hoping that this is just some silly phase that she’s going through.  The two of us sat down and discussed the situation today when I got home from work.  I explained to her that I need my sleep because I’m up early in the morning, and that if she really needed something she could politely request it through the baby monitor, but only if she really needed it right then.  I cited poopy diapers as a reasonable excuse for a midnight wakeup, but biting her own toes too hard was something that didn’t require a reassuring hug.

Abby’s response was non-committal.  She spent the whole conversation making raspberry noises, until the end where she farted three times.  (The first two farts were short, but the last one was really long and smelled like pickled evil.)

We’ll see if she gets the point tonight or not.  I couldn’t hold her to a consequence beyond a severe tickling, so she doesn’t have much incentive to ride it out until morning.

I think that putting Abby in a Steampunk super-villain's flight cap was my first mistake. It has clearly led her to do some plotting.

 

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