Five seconds later, I woke her up. She had slept the whole night without interruption. I didn't praise her in the conventional sense. ("Good job" and "You're so smart" are platitudes best used with dogs. Sorry, relatives.)
But I did say, "You didn't wake up or cry last night!"
"Yeah."
"You slept in the big-girl bed!"
"Yeah."
She looked puzzled at my enthusiasm, as though she had already internalized the implications of big-girlhood after only ten days as a two-year-old.
Thirteen hours later, defying fashion norms by wearing last night's pajamas, Lyla delivered an impassioned monologue titled "No bed! Books! Don't take picture!"
Alas, I shut the door and the webcam malfunctioned, so for all I know she's sleeping peacefully atop the sweaters in her bottom dresser drawer.
But at least she's peaceful.
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