The Wog has had a busy couple weeks. As soon as Minnie and Pop-Pop left, Grandma and Grandpa Vaillant from Connecticut arrived, and the feasting commenced. We are now back to an empty house, but The Wog is still recovering from the excitement with a runny nose and fever. We're not sure if it's teething or a cold, but it's getting better so that's what matters.
Every couple weeks The Wog has a really bad sleeping night. Last night was one of those times. Maybe it's something she's eating; maybe it's something I'm eating. In any case, she put up a fight at her usual bedtime; then at midnight we heard the telltale escalating howls that mean it's going to be a long night. We brought her in with us from her "cage" (she has a lovely, yellow Jenny Lindt crib, but since she started pulling up and we lowered the mattress, it looks a bit like a jail cell) but she still couldn't or wouldn't settle down until about 5 AM and after many, many verses of "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." ("Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" is the only song she'll tolerate from me; Marc can sing anything but I'm a One Hit Wonder as far as The Wog's concerned.) It's hard to believe that teeny little body can take up so much space in a bed! This morning she was up at her usual time of 6 AM and full of her usual morning energy. I'm holding out hope for a long afternoon nap.
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