Yesterday was another one of them. Hell days. She started the night before, and carried it over into Sunday. 2 naps, 15 minutes each. The rest of the time? Yelling and crying. Lots of it. (Some from me, admittedly.)
She finally went to sleep around 11, and I knew, I *knew* that tomorrow would be better. It had to be.
After all, it's my birthday.
I woke up, peered over the end of the bed into the portable crib, expecting a sweet smile and a lovely nursing session, followed by another hour of sleep curled up together in the big bed.
And I got a rude awakening.
Oh crap... I thought.
Yep. She's now got the stamina for two full days.
I think I cried just about as many tears as she did.
But, finally she settled down around 3 PM and we all jumped in the car to drive to Fargo to pick up the Jimmy, newly and very expensively repaired, and to go out to Johnny Carino's for my birthday dinner. I got a good start on the baby bolero I'm knitting for her (thanks, Flare!), and she was an angel, most of the time (except for about 5 minutes around Hillsboro, but I don't blame her. That sugar beet plant stinks.)
We got home, and I had to use my "crank the music and sing really loudly right in her face making up the words you don't know" trick for about a half an hour, but she's sleeping again.
I think I subbed too many days in music classrooms, if all that calms her is loud music and me singing my heart out.
Too bad I didn't get a karaoke machine for my birthday...