After my cranky day, we headed into an evening of 'can't seep, Daddy! Need to go-go Mama.' When asked where she needed to go with Mama, she replied 'Oh, it's right over dere.'
Daddy rocked her until she was not just calm but limp and asleep twice. Both times she sat straight up, screamed an hurled herself at her bedroom door when placed in her bed. *sigh*
Daddy thought that she might be scared of the (damn) anamatronic crocodile from earlier in the day. He thought that he heard her mention it in all of the screaming. Well crap. I finished up the dishes and we brought her into bed with us.
I suffered through an episode of 'Caillou' while Daddy snored on us. Then we turned out the lights and said our good nights. Apparently, that was the toddler equivalent of a starting pistol. She fidgeted, flopped, talked, sang, whined and whapped the headboard. Daddy slept and I fumed while doing my impression of a log. Every so often I reiterated the stance that Mama and Daddy's bed was a place where we were quiet and still. She would sigh, roll over and hold still for maybe 3 seconds.
*flop* *fidget* 'Bingy! Where's Bing?!' *no comment from Mama* 'Oh. Dere he is. Huh. Funny Bingy...' *alligator death roll* 'AGUA! My AGUA!!!! Oh, dere it is.' *noisy gulping* *cup collides with the headboard* - 2 count silence - *rhythmic whapping ensues* 'Boo, be still and be quiet or you cannot stay in Mama and Daddy's bed. If you wake me up again, you're going in your own bed.' *sigh* *immediate fidgeting* *THUD* <----- that's the sound of that f-ing cup hitting the bridge of my nose at high velocity.
At that point, I had actually kissed, soothed, ignored and cajoled her for over an hour and a half. That was my breaking point. I scooped up the girl, her blanket and her damn sippy cup, and strode angrily into her room. I dumped my cargo onto her mattress, turned on my heel and slammed the door. It went just as well as you might expect. Wailing, screaming, gnashing of teeth. Theatrical pounding of the door and demands for Daddy. He tried to go in to talk her down, but she slammed the door in his face. Being male and exhausted, he gave up and got back in bed. She flung herself around her room a few times and included a few stops at the door for full-body slams and a round or two of lips shoved as far under the door as possible in order to scream out of the room - a surprisingly effective technique.
I could only take a few short minutes of this. I returned to her room and crankily wiped her face. I demanded that she pick up her blanket, and announced that we were GOING to rock, and then she was GOING to sleep. Apparently, when you are two, you don't care if your mother is furious as long as she's there. We rocked. I fumed. She sobbed. It wasn't long before she went from pathetic to asleep. It took longer than that for me to calm down. When I finally stopped rocking the chair, I had to pull my interwoven fingers apart. They were stiff and swollen from being so tightly clenched.
I looked down at my girl. The top of her head almost comes to my collar bones these days, but she still sleeps on me like the tiny baby that she used to be. Hands loosely fisted on my chest. Legs wrapped around my body. Her whole self melted as closely into me as she can get.
I slowly stood, moved over to her bed and placed her on her mattress. She moved into her favorite spot. I put her cup near her elbow and covered her up. Then I backed out of the room like a ninja holding my breath the entire way. I made it to the hallway and managed to close the door with zero noise. She stayed asleep.
Why couldn't she have done this THREE HOURS AGO? Why am I not asleep? How much vodka is too much when you're 9 weeks pregnant? Calm down. It's a trick question. I can't abide any sort of alcohol these days. This baby is a teetotaler. Dammit.