Ralph Waldo Emerson once commented, “There never was a child so lovely but his mother wasn't glad to get him asleep.” That about sums things up at our home tonight.
Our most harrowing and suspenseful moment tonight was just after we put Emily down for bed a short while ago. We both paused, anxiously and instinctively held our breath (even though I was in the living room at the time), watching and listening for any signs of life. One of two things happens when we put her down: (A) she stirs little, perhaps even makes same faint effort to put her hand in her mouth, and then succumbs to the comfort of her bedding and drifts off; or (B) she kicks both legs straight up in the air as soon as her back touches the crib, furiously tries to fit both hands in her mouth, and, ere long, demands she be taken she be taken out. Everything hung in the balance as we waited those few moments: either we get to enjoy an evening with option A, or otherwise are forced to endure an evening of option B. Tonight our sanity was at stake (which is not uncommon in our house).
The fact that I'm writing this at all should be an indication she scored hight tonight: After a string of consecutive B evenings, Emily finally gave us an A- tonight, allowing us to set her down around 9:30 p.m. (and after one failed attempt an hour previous).*
Still, she needs to get her grades up.
*She actually got a B- last night -- feigning sleep for five minutes, and allowing her parents to relax and settle into our evening activities, before cruelly waking and demanding to be held and walked around the rest of our evening [Also note how, like the grading system at Harvard, we've made it very difficult for her to flunk out of the family -- or even get C's. The hardest part is getting into the family].
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