Thursday, March 17, 2005
Actually, she was pretty funny. She made big sleepy faces, so I took her up to her crib and put her down and she protested, but no big tears. I let her do some small fussing, with periodic checks to make sure she knew I was around, but also hoping she'd soothe herself to sleep. After about 15 minutes, she was smiling really big and waving her arms like she really wanted to get up; I figured I'd misread the sleep cues, picked her up, and the floodgates opened.
After a little walking and bouncing, I put her back in the crib and she was still sobbing, but not as much, so I tried singing. Sometimes that works for me, often it doesn't. I started in on some Billy Bragg, but that didn't seem to work for her, so I picked up the closest songbook to hand — The Irish Pub Songbook. Maybe because it's St. Patrick's Day (Erin go bragh!) or who knows why, but she calmed down by the end of the first verse of "Dirty Old Town" and she didn't even cry when I missed (badly) some of the notes in "Danny Boy." By end of "The Old Bog Road," she was out.
© 2003–2010 T. Carter Ross