Night-night. Bed.

The nighttime ritual with Lu has been pretty consistent. Bath, watch a few minutes of TV in our bedroom, books, a few songs including "Who Knows How Long I've Loved You" ("I Will" by the Beatles), "When You're Down and Troubled" ("You've Got a Friend," by James Taylor), "Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night" ("Blackbird," by the Beatles). Ater singing we say "Now I Lay me Down to Sleep," minus the morbid bit about "my soul to take," then she blesses various people, then she says "Night-night. Crib." You have to put her in her crib in just the right way, pat her back a couple of times, then she says, "Good ni-ight." And you are dismissed. And she goes to sleep. And it's a little miracle, every single night.

I only now appreciate what a miracle our routine was (namely the part about how she goes to sleep),'s gone. She decided during last Sunday's nap that she was done with the crib. She climbed out eight times, finally falling asleep with me next to her on a palette on the floor. We blew up a twin air mattress for her to sleep on that night, which she did, quite well.

But the novelty of that first night has worn off, replaced by the realization that she can leave the bed whenever she wants. And so she does. As I write this post, I am sitting guard outside her door.