Sleepy drama queen

Tom puts up with 2 high maintenance women in the house. After 17 years together, he appears to have me figured out (most of the time, at least). Neither of us has the BabyBear code cracked, however, particularly on the matter of sleep. 

Since returning from our family adventure out west, BB's sleep patterns have been FUBARed. When she didn't return to sanity last week, I decided to get serious. Lock the door, unplug the phone, draw the blinds...welcome to baby sleep boot camp.

For several days, I have stayed close to home and watched for sleepy cues. When crankiness arises, we strip off clothes (hers, not mine), diaper, feed, and get snugged in her fancy pink sleeping bag (perhaps a baby's equivalent of Yves Delorme bedding). For some reason, this pattern consistently yields 30 minutes of light slumber. Not victory, but I'll take it.

During this afternoon's nap attempt, BabyBear refused to sleep. She sang to the animals on her wall and watched the psychedelic fish in her aquarium contraption. When sleep did not come, babbling became squawking and squawking became an insistent siren. Rather than picking her up as I normally would, something made me stroke her forehead first. And just as I was milliseconds away from lifting BabyBear to my chest, she stiffened onto her side, closed her eyes, and heaved a sigh of exhaustion.

Sleep had come to the drama queen, enabled by the softest touch of her mother's hand.