In the wee hours of the morning, you can be sure that there is someone skulking around the second floor where we all sleep, creeping into each bedroom and staring the sleeping occupants square in the face. Normally, such a person would be swiftly exiled from our home, but when that person is chewing on a hot pink pacifier, has a crazy baby-fro, and is 2 years old, you have to approach the issue differently.
"Whoa! What the. . ." our first reaction upon discovering the nightly visitor, illicits only a blank stare. As does "go back to bed!" Actually, the only thing she responds to is, "alright, climb in. . . " This is about the time that Jake and I stop sleeping for the night. When Eleanor was a few days old and I was fighting my way through another sleep-deprived night, I came to the realization that I would never have another full night of sleep as long as I had children living in my house. A dramatic conclusion, I know, but two years and one more child later, I'm thinking that I was showing some real prophetic insight. . .