Aka : DST.
Which is kicking my ass right now, not to mention my darling girl's.
We've been doing bedtime about the same time, because her naps have been all screwed up. When it's pajama time, she does okay although she's begun wildly protesting lotion ("NOO!"), her onesie (imagine a jet taking off and screaming "NOOO" while it does so) and most of her books except the lucky one upon which she chooses to bestow a smile and nod that night.
And speaking of damnably stupid temerity:
Since we did Ferber, she usually goes to bed like a champ, sleepy and sweet in her little footed pajamas, grabbing a stuffed animal and sticking her thumb in her mouth as she tucks her legs underneath her and pushes her butt in the air. Seriously, so insanely adorable.
Until Monday night. We'd had a rough day beginning with an emergency trip to the pediatrician (about which more later) and only one nap (she's still at two although it seems to be changing). Usually she's signing for her bed after the first song we listen to on her lulllaby CD; that nght she seemed to want more. I put her down after the second song and she immediately was FURIOUS. Screaming, NO, No No, stomping her little feet (which was actually pretty hilarious to watch) and just generally acting panicked.
I am a Ferber devotee, but I'm not a jerk, either. So i picked her up, made soothing sounds, and cuddled wih her awhile, then placed her gently back in the crib. More fury, although a little less intense, so I left and listened for her on the baby monitor, waiting to see if she was just pissed or truly panicked.
She didn't settle after a minute (usually the case when she's just plain mad) so I went to get her while Paul picked up dinner (oh yes, did I mention I was up at 3 am with an insomnia attack? After she'd had the same kind of Crib is Evil reaction at 5 am on Sunday morning? I could barely spell dinner, I really didn't have it together to cook it). Half an hour later, I am rocking our exhausted but wide awake baby in her rocking chair while she plays with my hair. Paul spelled me so I could go eat and eventually tried to get her into the crib again. We both stood there, me leaning over the side with my arms wraped around her, telling her the crib is okay, we'll be right here all night, she's going to be fine, she needs to sleep.
This was an unpopular opinion.
Paul left as I started trying to brainstorm ideas to get her to lay down. I knew, if my exhausted little 24 pounds of pure angry coud just lay down and chill, she'd drop right off.
So I stretched out on the (hardwood) floor beside the crib and coaxed her to do the same, telling her I'd stay with her until she was asleep. I reached through the bars and stroked her fuzzy head when she obliged, cooing and soothing. She played with my hand and finally grabbed her stuffed duck. A peek revealed her eyes closing, so after a couple of minutes I started to crawl backwards out of the room, crowing inwardly about how I was Mother of the Fricken Year for coming up with this one.
Damnably Stupid Temerity.
She popped up, looked at me, and started complaining. I froze, telling her I wasn't, um, going anywhere really, I just changed positions. She laid back down, but WATCHED MY SHADOW on the wall to make sure I wasn;t puling any more fast ones on her.
Wihin a minute or two, she decided that brief lie-down as all she needed. And jumped up. And SMILED. And began bouncing on the mattress, grinning and giggling. So did I. All was lost.
"Maggie." I say. "It is BEDTIME. You have to go to SLEEP now. It is not PLAYTIME. Good NIGHT." And with that, I hugged hr again, kissed Elmo, and left the room.
Angry angry angry for about 90 seconds, then out. Fast asleep. And barely a sound out of her until morning. Last night was a repeat performance, as was today's nap.
I think the Mother of the Year committee is going to keep looking. And I think I am beginning to hate Daylight Savings Time.