Late

Lyla has discovered that a well-timed entrance into the toddler zone can add 20, maybe 40 minutes onto her day. Tonight she extended her bedtime by almost an hour because, well, because she stuffed two socks into a cup and washed them in her pretend sink over and over again, and we were so fascinated/horrified that we let her stay up.

Changing the bedtime routine is a rookie mistake. When we finally plunked her in the crib, she screamed things like "No bed!" and "Meh-sin!"

Downstairs I listened to the monitor and Julie in surround-sound.

"Dan, I think you should bring her some medicine."

"Meh-sin!"

"She doesn't need medicine."

"MEH-SIIIN! WAAAAAAAAH!"

I turned off the monitor. We could still hear her upstairs.

"meh-siiiin...waaaaaaaah."

"Dan!"

The "intolerant of crying" pregnancy hormone was in full effect. I went upstairs and gave Lyla medicine on the off chance that she was teething and not simply overtired from being put to bed an hour past her bedtime.

So yes: I am a terrible person. It's not Julie's fault; at that moment, she was simply a bit out of her mind with pregger hormones. I was the supposedly sane one who was like, hey, let's medicate our overtired daughter in hopes of shutting her up. Might as well have said, "Here, honey, this is called chew. Just put it under your lip and suck out the happy."

But it did work. In the future maybe we just need some nasty liquid like V-8 that tastes like medicine even though it's not. Or maybe we just need to get the kid to bed on time.