She woke close to her normal time, and cried out for someone, anyone to rescue her from the confines of her lonely crib. She made it 4 hours, which is a victory – in the sick and twisted parental-trenches-kind-of-way. She’s 19 months and a ball of fire in the best way.
There have been countless nights of pleading with her to go to bed; to stay in bed; to sleep like a big girl. Countless nights of wishing we didn’t have to step so gently or purposefully on our old wooden floors. Nights we wish we had more time to connect with one another before one of us was lost to the rocking chair and the other to exhaustion.