I don't think there is a worse sound in the universe than the sound of your overtired baby wailing plaintively "MAAAAMAAAA" from the confines of her crib. Maybe the sound of puppies being burned alive, I don't know. But I doubt it.
Molly has been having a hard time getting to sleep lately and wants nothing more than Mama to stay with her all hours of the night. Last night, the only way she was pacified was to sleep with Dean in the guest bedroom. He seems not to mind the fact that she sits up every hour or so and gently rubs his beard to try to wake him up.
I wish I knew the secret of co-sleeping. The hippy-dippy mother in me, the one that nurses past two and buys organic grapes, hates the idea of banishing my baby to the corner of her own room, door closed, crib bars looming. But the realistic mother in me knows that I can barely stand having Dean in my bed, let alone writhing toddlers. I've never figured out how people do it. And do you have to go to bed when the baby does? The mere thought of never having a moment alone strikes terror into the deepest corner of my psyche.
But right now, Molly is entering the fourth hour of a nap. A nap which she went to willingly, without the piercing shrieks that have punctuated her bedtime routine lately. Perhaps it was the corn dog she had for lunch?