Wherein our happy child takes a leave of absence and is replaced with a grumpy substitute.

Friday was a rough day on the baby front. Clara woke up on the wrong side of the crib. For reasons known only to Clara, she cranked and grumped around all day long. I finally concluded that something had to be wrong with the poor dear. Was she sick? Teething? She didn't seem to be showing any of her usual signs of ailment. And she was eating fine—that's really my biggest indication of problems. But boy was there wailing. And roaring. At one point—quite early on in the day, I said quite adamantly, "You are not very fun to be around today." And boy howdy I meant it. As her nap time neared, we were both in a bad mood. But that's the wonderful thing about nap times. They magically turn everything better. I counted down the minutes until I could deposit her back to her crib and allow her to re-wake on the right side.

Eventually the blessed hour occured. We read (I wisely chose Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day in hopes of making a parental point), we sang, we kissed our stuffed animals, and suddenly all was quiet in the house. Feeling exhausted, I decided to flop down next to a napping Tom and take a brief nap myself. We shall momentarily be the napping house, I thought. What relief. The day was not lost to moodiness after all! Fast forward to five minutes after. That's when a grating whine began to emerge from the depths of Clara's bedroom. It's one of those sorts of noises that enters your ears and digs its way around your whole brain and then sojourns down through your throat, meanders around in your stomach for a bit and eventually makes its final resting spot just below the surface of your skin and fingernails.

As I lay there hoping for it to go away, it gradually gained momentum and pitch. I knew precisely what she wanted. You see, she has this new game. Or new torture treatment, however you prefer to look at it. Let me explain.

A. Clara loves her blanket. Like—we're talking true love.
B. Clara will not sleep without it.
C. As of about a week and a half ago, Clara throws her blanket out of the crib.

After that, well, that's right about the time that Super Irritating Whine takes the stage, which ultimately turns into a full-out bawl-fest. Meanwhile Tom Thomas and I sit around scratchin' the ol' noggins trying to figure out what to do with her. If I go in and give her the blanket back, her little lungs really kick in to full gear because she sees me and wants to be picked up. Plus, that's just giving in, ya' know? If no one goes in to retrieve her blanket she cries herself to sleep. So no matter what scenario, there's still mounds of tears and no one is happy.

Anyway, I can only assume that all this blanket-throwing business is a part of her studies in gravity and should wear off just as soon as she realizes that no matter which direction she throws it—it's still not going to bounce back up. That's our little scientist in the making.*

Suffice it to say, nap time at the Giles' house didn't go so smooth. And after that I really can't remember much of what happened. All I know is that we powered through it and the next day (and today!) our little miss slept in a full hour later than her normal morning wake up time. And, by today we seemed to have our normal, smiley, grinny, happy Cute-ems McGee back. (Who's still throwing her blanket out.)

So I guess you could say we're all bff's again. I love happy endings.

And would you take a look at how long her hair is getting?

*Throwing her blanket is a new practice, but she's been throwing her stuffed animals out of the crib for months now. She has a few stuffed animals that she adores all day long. She kisses them, hugs them and pats them like they're all the best of buds. But each night she chucks them out of her crib. Maybe she just likes her space? I don't know. Beats me.