G's Mad New Skills

Well, the beginning of the end of the non-mobile phase that has been such a cakewalk is here. G started rolling onto her stomach about 4 weeks ago, started babbling about a week and a half ago (all.day.long.), and can officially sit up for much longer periods of time all of a sudden the past two or three days (she's been sitting up for 20 or 30 seconds before toppling over for weeks, but this is new). Oh, and today she was rocking to music for the first time. See Exhibit A, B, and C, below!










Soon she'll be driving race cars and paragliding.

When Tupperwear would do just fine

So, the question on my mind alot of late is "why do I bother spending money on baby toys, when Gillian's favorite things are NOT baby toys?". I mean, there is obviously nothing as much fun to thrash around as a plastic Pizza Hut bag; there is no cause and effect toy quite so satisfying as a portable phone on speaker (preferably with another human being on the other end, although the pre-recorded voice that says "if you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try again" still is plenty exciting enough to shriek about); there is no musical instrument you can buy that can compare to banging plastic ziploc disposable containers (that most of us don't dispose of because they're plastic), either with the spoon she'd rather play with than eat from or by banging two together. So, why do I insist on teethers when the DVD remote is so much shinier? And books?? Why, when restaurant menus are so utterly riveting? (ok, that last one is mostly tongue in cheek...kindof). I suppose at some point, it will click that the things she is playing with were made specifically as a toy, for her. But that day is not today. Until then, I will try to refrain to buying in to the giant con that is the baby industry (which I seem to do on a regular basis, to my own lament, but there are some clever (and completely adorable) toys out there!). And it is a con. I am very certain that babies will learn about cause and effect without pull toys, and that there are brilliant people out there everywhere who didn't have baskets full of multi-color, multi-texture, peek-a-boo mirror, flap styling, flashing, music-playing, brain stimulating teethers/stuffed animals/[insert anything else] growing up*. In fact, it might do a child good to have to use his own imagination every now and then. My grandmother and her nine siblings pretended corn cobs were dolls (with a rag around the waist for a woman's apron, and around the neck for a man's necktie). As far as I can tell, they didn't suffer for it.

So, the question is, why do we feel so obligated to surround our children with all this clutter, spending gobs of money, when Tupperwear would do just fine?

*to be fair, we have exactly one small basket full of toys (but let's not get into "gear", which is out of control around here); that being said, I can literally only point to a few things in the basket that the child has ever bothered to notice. The rest, I feel, have been a waste.

Love, Love, Love

In this moment, G reminds me of that Dominick's commercial...you know, the one with the happy family and each of them is wearing a t-shirt that says what their essence is. The baby's says "Ingredients: love, love, love, love, love, love....". I'm not sure what the specifics of this discourse is, exactly, but Gillian's fuzzy love in this moment is unmistakeable (complete with gentle love-squeals). She is becoming. She can love-she is capable of that. amazing.

Just a moment

Rocking Gillian tonight as she nursed, it hit me. Some day, painfully soon, she won't want to lay in my arms and play with my hair and gaze up at me. Some day, she won't bury her precious face in my neck for comfort, or affection, or because she is feeling shy. It must be so bittersweet-this parenthood thing-because you can't speed up some parts and slow down others. Your good days and hard days are interspersed...so you take them all together. The good days are really good, and the hard days are there to keep you humble, in case you start getting too comfortable.

There are so many little things I will miss when she is too big to do them anymore. Now, for the first time, I really understand when people say "enjoy them...they grow so fast..."

[Lack of] Separation Anxiety

Last night was the first night I have been away from Gillian since she came home. I had plenty of second thoughts and concerns about leaving her behind while going to my work retreat, but since I was asked (or told, really) that I would be presenting on the site where we took on Big Oil (and won, I might add), I found the strength to go and leave her here.

The first thing I realized when I got there is that I left my breast pump flanges at home. It doesn't work without them. YAY for flakiness! So, since we were in the middle of nowhere, I had to drive somewhere to get replacements...70 miles later and a pumping session later, I joined the group. Before long, I was completely engrossed in the talk about TCE in shallow aquifer in Downer's Grove and dioxins in fish in the Tittabawassee river. I was almost giddy with using my brain for the intellectual pursuit of swapping science stories. During breaks I caught up with my colleagues from our region 5 states and joked about the good old days (like getting threatened by mafia-tied cops one fine day in Ohio). We broke for a couple of hours in the late afternoon/early evening for some play time (canoing for most) and dinner. I took myself on a dinner date (to La Vigna, the only decent restaurant within 40 miles, as far as I could tell), alone, to enjoy the solitude. It was better than fabulous-the food, and particularly the company. The evening session with the partners had a jovial air. I presented second to last. I was all into it, supergeek-like...the stunning diurnal pattern of the data, the correlation to the monitoring locations, and finally, and most spectacularly, setting a precedent in region 5 using the clean air act for a civil action against a polluter. It doesn't get much better than that in my business-successfully getting a case and getting the company to sign on and legally promise to deal with it's own mess (while improving the quality of life for an entire city of residents). Floating with the sheer enjoyment of the day, I headed back to my Bed and Breakfast (which accepted the government rate), to my room where Abraham Lincoln had once slept, that happened to have a whirlpool bath (I think Abraham Lincoln would have liked the whirlpool bath had he been so lucky in his day). I pumped. I drank a liter of water. I had a simply magnificent bath. All uninterrupted. By anyone. I felt like I had entered the doors of Heaven, all relaxed and unrushed, and wonderfully unneeded*.

As I lay in bed, blissfully free to lay diagonally if I wanted to (and I did just because I could), I realized:

1. I love what I do, and I love sharing the excitement of my successes with my colleagues, and love them sharing theirs with me. I love hearing about creative ways our partners have addressed issues in their respective states, and the great outcomes that they have actualized.
2. I will never ever take the spare set of flanges out of my pump bag again.
3. I love small towns with rivers running through them and being out of the city in a small town is inherently calming.
4. I got to eat my entire dinner-date meal with both hands, without having to half pay attention to the food and the other half entertain the baby. I drank my wine, thoroughly enjoyed my lobster and shrimp pasta, and read my book without interruption. If you have never had a baby, you don't know what it is to have a peaceful meal after months of attempting to eat with a baby in tow.
5. I had not gotten peed on, puked on, or snotted on all day. I was wearing the same clothes I had put on that morning. I did not change a diaper for 36 hours.
6. Instead of fighting a stubborn, crying baby at bedtime, I took a luxurious bath, ate some fudge, and drank my water.
7. I SLEPT 8 SOLID HOURS WITHOUT INTERRUPTION FROM ANYONE. No one stole my covers, no one froze me with the window unit, no one woke up at 4 am to eat, and no one hogged the bed. (Sarah, this reminds me of our conversation today) I just didn't have to compromise, or be considerate, or be thoughtful. It was all about me, and it felt damn good.

So, did I miss cuddling Monkey and covering her with kisses? Seeing her sweet little smile in the morning? Of course I did. But if you ask me if I was torn up missing her while at my conference, the answer is NO. It was good to get away, alone. I haven't done that in a very long time. I use to do it several times a month. It is important to have little windows of doing things on your own time, and only doing the things you want to do (as opposed to having to do things other people want you to do, or doing things other people's way that you have to do).

*When I said wonderfully unneeded, I meant at that moment. I think to be unneeded in a general sense in one's life would be sad (I would argue that a lot of a person's sense of purpose comes from his/her belief that they are fulfilling a need that other people have-be it love, care, affection, you name it).

It's Good to be the Queen

As I sit here drinking my hard-earned glass of syrah, I can't help but think that I am no longer the Queen of this castle. I am like hired help. With another job besides being the help around here. And this job is harder and more taxing than the forty-hour-a-week job.

G is the Queen. Consider this:

1. She gets her feet kissed regularly by everyone who lays eyes on them. She is calculated in her cuteness. You have no power over her. You are at her mercy. Must...kiss...precious...fat...sausage...toes.....

2. Everyone in this house has a life moulded around her mood and her schedule. If Queen Gillian is not happy, no one is happy. If Queen Gillian is hungry, we starve until she is satiated. If she is sleepy, she retires to her luxury suite to rest, regardless of what our plans are for the day. In fact we aren't so foolish as to make "plans for the day" anymore, because we must have a window in the morning and in the afternoon free for her highness to get her beauty rest...so it's more like "plans around the nap", and good luck. If she's awake, so are you. But when she's happy...well, it's really good when she's happy.

3. She doesn't have to feed herself, bathe herself, or even wipe her own behind. She has the staff to perform those more mundane tasks so she can focus on the finer things, like eating a book, or a plastic bag, or her own feet.

4. She throws things to the floor and amongst passionate fits of rage on a regular basis to test the good will of the staff. She has trained said staff to fetch and retrieve.

5. She has custom meals made fresh daily, biologically engineered to her metabolic needs.

6. She gets wheeled around in a posh ride or carried about like a high priestess whilst out and about in the neighborhood such that her precious aforementioned sausages never touch unclean sidewalks and streets of the city.

7. People send gifts. To win her favour, or her heart, perhaps, or both.

8. She is photographed and filmed by rabid paparazzi on a regular basis.

9. She has two court jesters whose job it is to entertain her day and night.

10. Like Paris Hilton, she has people. You know, people that open her mail, pay her bills, shop for her, tell her what to sign... but she's smarter than Paris Hilton becaused instead of driving after a night of partying, our girl passes out where she lay in a drunken milk coma when she gets sauced with one too many mama cocktails.

So, there you have it. This castle is ruled by someone who has no teeth, whose idea of fun is smearing banana all over her body, and can't even make an intelligible speech. It's amazing what people will tolerate when you're cute.

To all the Mothers...

Today is my first Mothers Day. It's an arbitrary designation of a day to honor women who have made the wild decision to go and have a child, and presumably, raise them. Being a Mother requires strength, tenacity, great will, endless patience, a finely honed sense of humor, and a whole lot of open-heartedness (all of which you actively practice the remainder of your life). For some, being a mother is an acquired taste, and for others-that's all they ever wanted to be. Either way, Moms are special people who have to learn to make room in their world for cultivating another person, and certainly, strive to maintain selfhood all the while (this is more effort than one might think). To that end, I'd like to offer my thanks to all the Mothers that are, thankfully, in my life:

To My Mother: You forgave my sea of transgressions-like my calling you by your first name phase then picketing in protest of my punishment at age 4; running away under the table at age 5; finding God at 5 (he didn't seem to live at our house) and dramatically, tearfully demanding you get saved until you finally did at age 8; renouncing God after you were shot (and Grandpa died) at age 10; my miserable, miserable transition into 6th grade in a new city and new school; my insistence in playing saxophone, even though I am sure you could barely afford the payments, at age 11; the dark, dark days of adolescence (I am most sorry for them); and any worrying you might have done while I was exploring the far reach of me-ness (a lot of which was done in the dark, dark days of adolescence and the not-so-fabulous teen years).

I miss you. I know you love Gillian wherever you are... She has your nose. Thank you for creating a space for me to breathe and grow in, especially within the small safe space you had for yourself. I have yet to meet another woman on this planet with your unwavering strength. You were always selfless, quick-witted, funny, and you sang me nonsense songs (I now carry on the tradition). Thank you for working so unbelievably hard to give me this chance in life. I want you to know I have taken it, and your efforts were not squandered. It’s been almost 13 years now since you've gone on, but it never gets any easier...

To My Mother-in-law: Thank you for being my stand-in Mom. She picked you for me. You are a warm, wonderful person with a big heart. You taught me to show love, if I feel it. We weren't like that growing up, and it feels really good to show affection. You gave me a real family, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Thank you for unconditionally loving (even when you wanted to kill him) and molding the very committed, adoring person I call my husband, and loving Gillian so completely. They add the color and richness to my life.

To My Grandmother: Thank you for your joy, which you planted in me. Thank you for giving me your stories, which I will share with my daughter and granddaughter. I always admired your strength and ability to laugh through the bumps in life. I would love to have an ounce of your brightness in me, and your serenity (evidence of a life well lived).

To Adee and Grandmama: Ah, the Matriarchs! We all have much to learn from the two of you. Such southern charm and grace, spinning four generations. There is so much love surrounding each of you that all the orbiting children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren have brought your lives. We all should all build our families so well.

To Mimi: I don't know how you managed-three boys. That is hard. And worse-they were really difficult boys. And you're still sane, and fit, and gorgeous. And the boys? In one piece on the other end. I am in awe of you.

To Martha: We have been through it, haven't we? And now, this new adventure. I don't think we ever imagined this being one of the ways we would be changing the world when we laid in the grass in Four Freedoms Park talking about the rest of our lives. I feel honored and blessed to have walked this journey with you. You are strong, and you are wonderful, and I love you. And you have a beautiful daughter that I can't wait to introduce to mine!

To Michelle: I have known you the longest. You always knew what you wanted, and you went and got it. I think you told me when we were 12 what your life was going to be like, and you never changed your vision or your resolve to get there. I admire you for that. I bet you never thought you would see me get married, much less have a child. Love and living it changes us, I suppose. Congratulations on you new little boy!

To Jen: We are becoming Mothers without the benefit of the wisdom of our own Mothers...and we are doing just fine. I am proud of you for all you are, and what you have made of yourself. Thank you for your friendship over the years. I look forward to watching us become in this new role!

To Bonnie: Congratulations! I can't wait to meet your girl!! It was great taking down big oil with you ;-) It has been my pleasure not only to work with you, but also to know you.

To Peggy: You have walked a hard road that I could never pretend to understand with your three angel babies; you are most certainly a Mother in every sense of the word. Thank you for your friendship and your endless nurturing over the past six years. I am definitely in good hands.

To Megan, Roxanne, Sarah, and Shayna (and respective bebes): My sisters. What a happy accident that we met! Gillian and I are so grateful for all of you. Knowing you and having the privilege of witnessing the development of our children together is a truly lovely blessing. I hope for many more days spent sharing our life experiences as mothers and wives and women...

To Lara, Sherry, and Cindy: Even though your little ones are still within, you are, officially, Mothers. This is a beautiful journey (and exhausting), but well worth every moment. The best to you all for healthy pregnancies and healthy deliveries, and finding joy in your children every day.

To my many sisters that are future Mothers: I love you and can't wait to watch you walk this road. It changes you in the most interesting ways. You actualize the depths of your womanness, I guess, by creating, carrying, and giving life to another human being. You will never know such love and joy, or so much panic and worry. These things become you, somehow, even while they try you, carving soul-canyons for your joy.*

I will from here on out, get to be one of the people honored in a day that celebrates what it is to be a mother. I have joined the ranks, the sisterhood, the club of the ages. I am a tiny drop in the annals of the human experience of motherhood. How completely, utterly surreal. How absolutely fabulous.

*Gibran; On Joy and Sorrow

The Contortionist

Starting about two weeks ago, as usual, I would wake up for Gillian's early morning feeding hearing her little voice in the monitor, no doubt verbally going through her checklist of things to accomplish that day. I would open the door to her room and somehow she would be anywhere from 180-270 degrees from the angle at which I had put her down the night before, and at least 80% of the time one or more limbs would be hanging out of the crib and her head would be smashed up against one of the crib slats (I would be crying if my head was smashed up against the crib slat, but thankfully she is herself and not me). I don't know how she turns herself completely upside down when she is really quite immobile still (I am seriously considering a spy cam to unravel this mystery), or where she thinks she is going, or if she thinks she'll get a better view of a possible escape route upside down...or maybe, since I always enter the room at night from the side of the crib where her head is, she thought this may facilitate more rapid food service. At any rate, her antics prompted the purchase of a "breathable crib bumper" to discourage her from getting so close to the slats (my rationale: if she can't let limbs hang out, she can't get close enough to smash her head against the slats). The bumper seemed to be a good solution until two nights ago. The past two mornings, I have entered her room to find her on her stomach, in a position with one arm pinned under her body and this morning, her entire body smashed up against the crib slats (yes, upside down). Mind you, I have never seen her roll onto her stomach before, she doesn't care for being on her stomach, and if on her stomach too long, whines of protest are sure to follow. Why would she deliberately roll onto her stomach, the most hated position of her young life? For the first time this morning she woke me by crying, no doubt because of the frustration of being in her very uncomfortable position (which she did all by herself).

I am a bit perplexed about how to address her newest hobby-namely, trying to escape her crib very ineffectively. Should I create a wall of pillows to protect her (thereby negating the purchase of a safe "breatheable bumper")? Perhaps put her to sleep upside down and see if it's just the angle she prefers? Or maybe just some good restraints to keep her from moving while she sleeps. I'm sure my wiggle worm wouldn't notice.

*sigh* and *sigh*; Motherhood is tricky.

The end of an era

This is the eve of my first week back to work full time-my last day home as a mostly stay at home mom. What a strange and wonderful world I have made for us-finally for myself-learning how to let go and just be every day. I think something potentially tragic happened at the end of my pregnancy and beginning of Gillian's life that put everything in my current life world into perspective. Before that-what did I run around so unbelieveably busy doing, functioning at the highest frequency, wired with the energy and power of "gettin' it done", every single day? I was so productive, so single-minded, so purposeful. Keeping insanely busy was some kind of rush. I was the person on the blackberry all the time; I was the person that gave residents my cell phone number for use after hours and on weekends; I volunteered for emergency response assignments and being sent out on a moment's notice, and I chaired several major groups and committees, all while getting a PhD. Sometimes I was in the field for weeks at a time, and I loved every minute of it (I remember squatting in a marsh collecting water samples at 6.5 months pregnant and was in the field when I got sick at the very end). Then my world collided with a tiny little life I made and the universe stood still, and way before I thought I was ready. I mean, I hadn't read that far ahead in my books-I wasn't ready to be a parent yet. And even if I had read that far ahead, I wasn't going to read about c-sections or spinals or having a premature baby (you see, that wasn't in my plan)...but those things happened anyway. The truth is, God has different plans for us sometimes than the ones we have so carefully plotted out for ourselves and our lives. And you're always amazed at how you can adapt if you have no other choice. My growth has consistently been forced by these monumental challenges, and even though at the time I didn't realize it, they have always been good for me, no matter how hard they seemed at the time. Gillian has taught me purpose, in the truest sense. She is the greatest joy of my life.

I have been on maternity for seven months, two weeks, and six days. I have been home with Gillian for six months. Tomorrow I become a "working mom", just like millions of other women. But this is my experience, not theirs. There must be a collective sorrow for all the women who have left their babies in the care of someone else when they go back to work....some sisterhood of loss. It's like taking your heart out and leaving it somewhere till the end of the workday; with someone else that you know couldn't possibly love or care for her the way you do (even if that person is your very able husband). I am sure I am not the first woman to worry that she would miss some vital moment in the development of her child, or that she might come to prefer the other caregiver, or that she might forget the comfort of her mother somehow.

I felt so sad when nursing Gillian tonight, sad to be the one who has to be away from her, thinking how unfair it is that Sean would rather work and not stay home and I would rather stay home and not work (at least for the time being), and neither of us get to do what we want (then I hear my Marine-Corps-less-than-senstitive father's voice in my head saying something smug and apropos like "it's good to want" (a favorite line for me as a child)). As usual, I will shut off the self-pity and get on with it (who has the time to be down for long?), but I reserve the right for intermittent moments of wallowing on Sean's chest as I acclimate to the life of a working mom.

The State of Things

What'll I do with the baby-o?
What'll I do with the baby-o?
What'll I do with the baby-o when she won't go to sleepy-o?

Wrap her up in calico,
Wrap her up in calico,
Wrap her up in calico and I'll throw her out the window

What'll I do with the baby-o?
What'll I do with the baby?
What'll I do with the baby-o when she won't go to sleepy-o?

Wrap her up in a tablecloth,
Wrap her up in a tablecloth,
Wrap her up in a tablecloth,
and toss her up in the stable-loft

What'll I do with the baby-o when she won't go to sleepy-o?

Dance her north, dance her south,
Dance her north, dance her south,
Dance her north and dance her south,
...pour a little moonshine in her mouth

What'll I do with the baby-o when she won't go to sleepy-o?

Every time the baby cries, I stick my finger in the baby's eye...
That's what I'll do with the baby-o
That's what I'll do with the baby-o!

(traditional american; version by Jean Ritchie)

A New Kind of Donor

Gillian was in the hospital for seven weeks after she was born, and my milk supply was established via pump as she was fed through a tube for the first five and a half weeks of her life. She started out with a tiny amount of milk-1 cc or 1 mL every three hours continously. Within 10 days I was producing 36 ounces of milk a day (or, for perspective, a little more than roughly 125 times what she was eating each day in the first couple of weeks). So, as you can imagine, our freezer got full-and fast (as did the hospital freezer). At one point the nurses at the hospital said "we'll let you know when we have room for you to bring us more milk".

It was never even a decision to make-to breastfeed or not. It was particularly vital since she so desperately needed the antibodies and nutrients that only breast milk provides (she missed out on the antibody boost babies get in the last few weeks of a term pregnancy). If you are not aware, breastmilk is SUPER FOOD for babies. It is continuously specially formulated for the exact stage of life your child is in-the ratio of fat and carbs, of the kind and concentration of different antibodies and vitamins (including omega 3 fatty acids) your baby needs at different stages of development, and you can literally, within 8 hours of nursing a baby exposed to a virus, create the anitbodies your baby needs via your own immune system. People use it to heal cuts, eye infections, and ear infections. It is even being used to boost the immune systems of cancer patients. It is pretty amazing stuff.

So, my body knew Gillian was a preemie, and made a special magical elixir to make her grow healthy and strong. And LOTS of it.

Yesterday it was six months since we brought our tiny 4 lb baby girl home from the hospital. Since I started nursing her more and more once she was home and supplementing with freshly pumped milk (to keep her immune system up to date with the bugs out there), the freezer stash has gone untouched. I decided that there must be people who need this liquid gold for their preemies or full term babies who simply couldn't produce the milk for one reason or another. A search online sent me to the International Milk Bank website (http://www.milkbanking.net/ibmp/about_ibmp.html). This is part of the International Breast Milk Project, which provides milk to children home and abroad who desperately need it. Mine is earmarked to go to Africa, where there are millions of babies orphaned by HIV/AIDS every year.

Becoming a donor for the IBMP was an interesting process. A phlebotomist came to my house and I submitted blood and DNA samples to Prolacta Bioscience. The former, to make sure I didn't have any diseases that could jeapordize vulnerable babies, the latter so they could literally create a biological identifier for my milk and make sure the milk I am donating is mine.

So, today I donated three coolers full-a little over 780 ounces of breastmilk, liquid gold, to the IBMP. I hope it helps some needy and sick little babies in a way that formula just can't. After Gillian's two blood transfusions in the hospital using intensely screened donor blood, I know that out there somehere is someone who selflessly donated their blood and saved her life...I have a whole different understanding of what it means when people give of themselves. And I feel priviledged to have the opportunity.

Baby Boom

There are babies everywhere, or it seems like it, anyway. It's almost like when I got engaged and got my first diamond, then suddenly I had a radar for other people's rocks (fine jewelry is something I can honestly say I never cared about before that). They were just so sparkly, and there were so many options- traditional round cut with a simple band, all the way up to gaudy and huge and crusty with diamonds.

It's like that with babies. I don't know if there has been a sudden population explosion, or if I just notice a stroller on every street corner now that I actually own one. I can honestly say in my circle, there has been a real (as opposed to imagined) Baby Boom. Six of our old couples friends have had a baby in the past four months. And three are pregnant as we speak (that we currently know of, anyway). Have we all gotten comfortable enough in life (and with our partners) that we are ready to take the plunge? Did we simultaneously decide we have sewn our collective oats and are decidedly interested in exploring the uncharted territory of Parenthood? Or did we all make a rather rash decision to throw the remainder of our live's worth of spontaneous decision-making and freedom to the wind?

As I suspect for many of us...it was just time. Life was settled and we were really ready. It wouldn't have been the end of the world if it happened sooner (when we were less ready), but it was really good to have a life and marriage as comfortable and broken in as a well worn shoe first. We don't miss the old life except every now and then. And, well, this life, with this family we are making, it is just richer.

Party Girl

So, Gillian has decided it's more fun to hang out with her silly mama and papa than to go to bed at night. This is a recent occurence. Of the past five nights, we let her cry it out (CIO) twice. The other three nights, she went down awake and put herself to sleep. Crying it out is the worst kind of torture for all involved. Baby doesn't need anything, but she wants you to stay and play with her before bed. Or maybe she wants to stay up all night and party. At any rate, after 50 minutes of crying Sunday night (she won-I went to her and touched her to sleep in a few minutes), I decided we'll try anything before CIO again-including the various forms of wearing her down if she's wired.

This all reminds me of Sixteen Candles. One of the Geeky Guys Parents, in an effort to help him socialize, dropped him off at the local dance. He desperately grabs onto them as they turn to leave and frantically says "No! No! I wanna stay with you guys!!". Except going to bed is not quite a dance, but the frantic "I wanna stay with you guys" is right on. She is exerting her will, and just like we were amazed at her resilience in the beginning of her life, we are amazed by her stubbornness for what she wants now. The only downside is that in this instance fighting us = crying hysterically, which is innately disturbing. I am hoping she resolves herself to the peaceful nighttime routine in lieu of fighting the inevitable, namely, sleep...