Karma

Lyla sleeps for twelve hours a night. She gives us unrealistic expectations for how all babies should be. Our next child, tentatively named Vlad, will not sleep at all. He'll shriek and hiss, grow fangs and sink them into Julie's breasts. Milk will spray everywhere, like Mountain Dew when you poke holes in the can and then shake it up.

I digress. So when you put Lyla down to bed, imagine the current time is AM instead of PM, and that's about when she'll wake up. This is wonderful, as you can imagine, especially with her bedtime being 7:00. You get to read books, drink tea, eat ice cream, and watch movies before bed, and then the next morning you get to drink coffee and eat cereal, all without infantile interruptions.

Now with daycare on Tuesdays and Thursdays, she comes home exhausted. I think they must be making her crawl laps around the outside of the building or something. We got home today, and I swear she would've gone down for the night at 5:30. But imagining 5:30 AM, Julie and I (and our friend Traci, in town from Baltimore) managed to just barely stretch Lyla's bedtime to 6:40. I felt a little bad about it: sleep depriving the kid in the name of a peaceful breakfast tomorrow morning.

Oh well. What goes around will come around...with Vlad.