Bedtime routine reversal

Zack demonstrates a remarkable, almost painful, sensitivity to the needs of others - even strangers he will never meet. This morning, aware that Amie was hurrying to check on a patient who'd been admitted during the night: "Mama, I'm sorry I talked so much. I know you need to leave early to see your patient in the hospital."

***

For all his available empathy, he was more than a bit difficult last night, going out of his way to hurt Amie's feelings at the dinner table. We diagnosed the root of the problem as the lopsided bedtime routines we've allowed to persist for some time now, wherein Sam forcefully demands Amie, and so it's I who almost always ends up putting Zack down. So we decided then and there to flip the approach, though we knew Sam would protest. (Side benefit: I've been wanting for some time to read more to Sam, but bedtime is about the only time I can ever get her to sit still long enough.)

So I read Sam some stories while she complained loudly from the crib. Each time I finished a book or poem, she demanded, "Hai yao!" Whether she wanted more for the sake of the reading or simply to put off my inevitable departure, it's hard to say. She of course cried hard when I left, but it subsided quickly. Zack, meanwhile, enjoyed his bedtime with mama immensely. As he reported to me later: "Mama snuggled with me for longer than you usually do." Ouch. I guess I'd better step up my game!

Tonight, it went even more smoothly. Though Sam still howled bloody murder when it became clear that I intended to take her to bed myself rather than handing her to her mom, she only cried for half of Cat in the Hat. More remarkably, she didn't stir at all as I creeped out of the room; the night before, she'd bolted upright - from deep sleep, or so it seemed - as soon as I had the audacity to tiptoe toward the door.

***

It's now possible to have a whole conversation with her. When I got home this evening, she followed me into my bedroom as I changed out of my work clothes, and she happily (if tersely) answered a stream of my questions: Did you have a nice day? "Yeah." What did you do? "Walk." Where did you go? "Playground!" (She also went swimming, and apparently had a blast. But playgrounds come first, in the order of the universe.)

Later, perched on the a toddler-adapted ring in the toilet, she pointed between her legs. "Penis," she said matter-of-factly, indicating exactly where it would be if she had one fewer X chromosome. As yet, no pee has issued forth, from her penis or otherwise. But she does seem to enjoy sitting on the potty. And that, I suppose, is the first half of the battle.