Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Good help is so hard to find

Chloë has a pretty steady bedtime routine now: an ounce or two of solids, a bath if she's getting one, then nursing, pajamas, and bed. We turn on her "Sleep Sheep" and give her her stuffed puppy, and she lies in the crib singing to herself until she falls asleep. We had some struggles getting her to this point, but it's been pretty comfortable for the past couple of weeks.

Until two nights ago, when we put her down and she screamed and screamed. "Let's wait a few minutes," Eric said after it had gone on a few minutes and she hadn't wound down. Then, not long after, "No, this sounds like something's wrong." So we went in and picked her up and checked her and the crib. Nothing seemed to be wrong. So we held her until she was calm and put her back down, and after a few more whimpers she settled down to sleep. (And slept until 6:30. I was so happy.)

Last night when I came home from work, she was in her exersaucer. I crouched down to say hello, and she grinned and bounced. "I'm going to go put my coat away, and then I'll be right back," I told her, and started up the staircase.

She roared her displeasure, which hasn't happened before, and didn't stop until I came back down and picked her up. "I told you I would be right back," I said, but she was unamused. At bedtime there was much screaming again. I went in and checked on her, and held her until she was quiet, and when I put her back down she started screaming again. She cried herself to sleep about ten minutes later. I'm wondering if Miss Overlord is discovering separation anxiety. It's a little early, but perhaps she doesn't realize that Eric and I are eminently replaceable; she has plenty of minions she could promote to trusted lieutenant if necessary. Maybe she just doesn't want to go to the trouble of conducting the interviews.

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