I got home from work and snuck upstairs to put the Dora stickers on the wall. She's going to love this I thought. And Dani did. She didn't want to come downstairs for dinner because she didn't want to leave her Diego bed.
I've got it easy, I thought. Until bedtime, I did.
Big Man took Tori and Dani and I walked upstairs together. "I don't LIKE my Diego bed. I want my crib!" said Dani. Big Man stood by and snickered "great idea mommy".
But I got her a drink of water, stood guard outside the door for a few minutes, and went downstairs. I made a few calls, loaded the dishwasher, and didn't hear a peep. Wow, that was easy, I thought.
I finished up my second call, and thought, I'll just take a peek upstairs to see how cute they look sleeping in the same room.
I was, in fact, having a smug, "I'm a supermom" moment. You know, that little mental happy dance where you can't figure out why parenting is so hard for everyone else, when it comes so incredibly naturally and easy to you? Yep, that one. Delusional, party of one.
From the landing, I notice that the door to their room is shut, and I see blinding light underneath it. Uh oh. I take down the baby gate and let myself in. Dani's got the ceiling light on and its daylight-bright in there; her bed is in the middle of the room, and it's chaos. Tori is fortunately fast asleep, despite the commotion.
"Go downstairs and watch Mickey, mommy," Dani says, "I'm not tired," she insists.
She starts to fuss and whine. I slide her bed back against the wall, and get another night light. I tell her that under no circumstances is she to turn the light on again.
She's upstairs singing songs and probably tying sheets together to escape out the window.
Dani 1; Mommy 0.
Tori has now attained "most favored baby" status for sleeping through it all. (so far).
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