Thursday, July 7, 2011

The Closer

Apparently, Tom is the Todd Jones to my Jeff Weaver. The Mariano Rivera to my Andy Petite. The Dennis Eckersley to my Bob Welch.

Yes ... he's 'The Closer.'

Tonight was the second in our quest to sleep train Miss Abigail. Tom was out to dinner with friends, so I had the dinner/bedtime routine duty.

After dinner, Abby and I played on the floor for about 15 minutes. Well ... she tried to touch everything in the room, and I perfected my phrase, "Uh uh, no touch."

We then had bath time (she pulled an entire bucket of foam letters into the tub ... it was awesome) and story time. I read her "That's Not My Kitten" (I truly don't understand that book. What is the concept in stating that every trait that every cat has makes it "not my kitten"? What exactly does your kitten look and feel like then? I throw it on the pile with "Goodnight Moon". Sorry.), "Little Hands Love" and "Things That Go" (a book about all things vehicular from her cousin Leo ... she LOVES the book).

Then it was time for Abby to eat and go to bed. With eating finished, we read one more story and then I put her in her crib with her puppy (a stuffed puppy) and her Violet. I turned on the nighttime music and left the room.

Let the screaming begin.

I cleaned up after her bath and then returned to her room only to find her straddling the side with her legs through the bars looking as though she were in prison. I laid her back down, said goodnight and left the room.

More screaming.

I began loading the dishwasher and then returned to her room to find her in a similar position. Laid her back down, goodnight, left room.

Screaming.

Cleaned the kitchen some more and went back up. This time she was standing on the edge of the crib looking at me with these huge weepy eyes that made me want to take a long walk off a short pier. I laid her back down, said goodnight and left the room.

The child was thisclose from falling asleep. Her eyes would droop and she would get ready to roll over into her regular sleeping position, but then grew none too pleased when I left the room.

As I was finishing the cleaning preparing for my next visit to her room, the garage door opened to signal Tom's arrival.

He walked into the kitchen and asked for the bedtime routine protocol ("I can't rub her belly? Not even for 30 seconds?") and ventured up.

I heard the door open, heard him tell her goodnight and heard the screaming get worse.

A minute later he reappeared in the kitchen and we began making small talk. All of a sudden ... it was quiet.

It only took 30 minutes for Abby to fall asleep on "her own" but it took Daddy's magic touch to close it out.

I'm not jealous.

I'm not.

Seriously.