False modesty aside, I've been pretty sure I had the magic touch when it comes to getting that toddler to mellow out and go to sleep. Every nap time we've spent together has been a rapid descent into lethargy and sweet dreams. The key has always been to go absolutely quiet around her. I lie down on the bed next to her, and get as heavy and boring as a sack of wet concrete. She wiggles a little, but she knows she has to stay roughly in place. She eventually gets bored, and she starts rubbing her eyes and lies down next to me. I've taken her from cranky to sweet slumber in less than five minutes.
Until today. She fought sleep harder than she has since infancy, since her gastric reflux days. She wasn't crying, but she had no interest in staying in one place. She played with her big blue kitty stuffie, moved around on the bed, slid off the bed as many times as she could get away with it, and begged me to turn on the ceiling fan, to entertain her. I did agree about the fan, not because I thought it would keep her awake, but because I knew the white noise would block out traffic sounds, and the cool air would help her get sleepy. It took her just over an hour to zonk out. That probably sounds reasonable to her parents, who have to fight this battle more often than I do, but for a grandma who thought she had the magic touch, it's humbling.
You know what? Even if it was a little tough today, it's still the best entertainment I can think of right now, spending time with the cutest kid in Colorado.
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