Bedtime failure

That's the lens cap. Lyla doesn't always appreciate the paparazzi.

The child is currently in her crib crying her ass off, and I'm writing a blog about it. It's 45 minutes past her bedtime, and she's had plenty of food, milk, and Motrin in case she's teething. I just ran upstairs to consult with Julie, who's ironing in the next room. "You realize she's only been crying for about two minutes, right?" Julie said.

"Seriously?"

That's some role reversal. Usually I'm the one telling Julie that it's only been a minute or whatever. So I went downstairs and set the microwave timer for nine minutes, and I've been here typing ever since.

Lyla stopped crying when I typed the coordinating conjunction in that last sentence. It's a Christmas miracle, 11 days late. Actually, this whole deal is the fault of the holidays. Last week Lyla got to sleep in until 7:00 or 7:45, and now we haul her out of bed at 6:20. She got multiple naps last week if she demanded them, and in the serenity of her nursery. Now she's down to one nap a day amid the excitement of daycare. The kid doesn't stand a chance.

So we tried to put her to bed early tonight, but then she slept for 30 minutes and woke up and totally called us on our shenanigans. I think she thought it was a nap. Then when we gave her a little more milk, some food, etc., and I put her down again, she was like, "Why the HELL do I have to take another nap, idiot?"

The nine minutes are up. She hasn't cried in two paragraphs, so this is definitely promising.

Whoops, there she goes again. Wanna come over?

*Update*

She's asleep again. Man, she's tired--overtired, which is the problem. In other news, and this is probably an over-share but it's your own fault for reading this blog, here's some Dan-and-Julie banter.

Dan: How do you manage to look at me without being immediately aroused?

Julie: It's very easy.