I stayed up late last night, engrossed in a e-galley about seducing a governess (The Sound of Music, anyone?) and didn't realize just how late it was until Caris began to cry. Seeing that it was almost 11pm, I turned off all the lights and went to calm my screaming toddler. When I realized that laying her back down with her precious blanket wasn't going to do the trick, I scooped her up and plunked her into bed with us. (Please, spare me the lectures about having a toddler in bed, and how they'll never sleep in their own bed. We have to sleep at some point, and can't while she screams for an hour.) Usually this is a sure-fire way to get her back to sleep, and it seemed to work...at first. Then she began to toss and turn, whimpering and breathing like she was in pain. The first-time mom brain in my head began to imagine all sorts of things wrong inside her little body, so I sat up and watched her. And then she sat up and watched me. Realizing my darling daughter was not seriously ill, only teething, I had inspiration. 45 minutes and a dose of baby Oragel and Tylenol later, and we're asleep, albeit fitfully.
5:30am came very early this morning, and even the daycare lady took pity on me when I walked in with an obvious headache. Digging around in her magical cabinet, she withdrew a packet of pills that were to fix me up. And you know what? They did. That an 2 diet cokes, some peanut butter cookies, and a diet mountain dew later.