My eleventh month old likes to party. Particularly at 3:30 in the morning. Is that a witching hour? Is that some sort of horrific time in a horror movie where terrible things happen? If it is don’t tell me. At 3:30 AM demons are the last thing on my mind and I’m pretty sure I don’t need to add a satanic child to my list of worries. For awhile now both Palmer and Berkeley usually sleep from 6pm-7am. I know, 6 pm sounds early, but if you’ve ever been to my house around 5:45 pm you would be in the middle of melt down city and it’s pretty obvious that they don’t mind the 6 o’clock routine. So yeah, my girls sleep 13 hours. It’s been wonderful.

Until Party Palm showed up.

Party Palm is usually my “chill” child. You can normally give her what she needs; a bottle, a nap and she immediately stops her minimal whimpering and is happy with the world again. NOT PARTY PALM. Party Palm, wants to cry. Big ugly tears down face crying. Like a sorority girl on her 13th jello shot- just saw her friend and her crush make out-cry. I’m not sure if most eleven monthers do this “real” cry (her sister doesn’t… she just opens her mouth and shrills in protest) but it immediately makes me tear up too. At first her cries aren’t loud enough to make me worried. 90% still asleep, I whisper to Matt, “she’ll go back to sleep.” Ten minutes later her whimpering is getting louder, her sister is stirring, the monitor is flashing angrily at me and my husband is questioning: “is she standing?” This question always irritates me. UM, I don’t know, funny thing, I WAS SLEEPING. So now we’re all up. B is irate, Party Palm is just plain old sad, my husband is yawning and wrestling wiggle bottoms into new diapers and I am coming upstairs with weapons for this battle in hand: bottles.

In the past- a quick bottle, a new diaper, some snuggles with mom & dad, a quick giggle fest with the sister and these babes would be back in bed within 15 minutes. Matt and I felt like super heroes. However, the past few nights this routine isn’t cutting it for Party Palm. She doesn’t really need the bottle, and she definitely doesn’t want snuggles from mom & dad, she wants OUT. She wants to be free to explore and play. She doesn’t want or need to be snuggled and held, she wants to roam the halls of our home and be rid of any crib, arm, or blanket that tries to restrict her. Bitterly, I oblige knowing it’s the only way the other half of the family will get some sleep… and we all know I’m not getting any sleep after seeing my pathetically convincing Party Palm shed real tears. I bring her downstairs and as soon as I set her down with some toys this girl gets wild. She is suddenly overjoyed with life: like the bubbly, energetic sorority girl who was given a pep talk and is determined to make this the #bestnightever. A catnap on the the rug next to Party Palm later, I glance over at my phone. 5:30 am.  I am exhausted and know the sun will be rising soon. I look over at my fearless daughter banging a drumstick on a plastic elephant as she uses her other hand to rub her eye and I know closing time is near. I return the sleepy but still smiling girl to her crib, knowing in the morning we’ll gab over coffee & bottles about last nights’ crazy adventures. And then I return to my warm bed, wiggle my way between three cats, a dog, and a dreaming husband and sleep until Party Palm sees the sunlight and a new day begins. All with the presumption that this will also be the best day, ever.

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