Iris flipped out tonight. She’s been going to bed between 7:30-8:00pm for weeks if not months, and she’s been doing it without major complaint. Tonight she went to bed at 7:30 and woke up at 8pm—SCREAMING. Pacifier, snuggles, pain meds (teething? who knows): all in vain. Magically, as soon as we took her out of the nursery, she was in perfect health and spirits.
Also very wide awake.
We gave up.
Instead we sat on the couch as a family, eating sugar cookies and watching Liz & Dick (because nothing says “giving up” like watching Lindsay Lohan try to play Elizabeth Taylor). Between mouthfuls of cookie, we taught Iris how to kiss. “Beso!” I would say, and she would turn her little face up and happily lunge forward to meet mine.
“Who thought it was a good idea for us to try to raise a baby?” I asked Carl later, when I was starting to feel a bit guilty about the cookies and the much-too-late-o’clock.
He didn’t know either…
It’s well after ten-thirty now, and I just saw Carl emerge from the nursery to stand at the top of the stairs. He said he’d meet me in bed. No more Liz & Dick for me, and I guarantee you Iris is going to be one crabby little lady tomorrow, but if there are better answers than this for dealing with frantically crying children, I don’t know what they are.
Also she learned how to kiss.
That has to be worth something.