Milestone-ish

In sleep related news, not only is Megan now a put myself to sleep and stay asleep all night kind of gal - she's also a "do it without demanding milk in a bottle" kid. It really isn't a surprise though. Meg merely confirmed what we've come to believe.

There are certain things a parent must insist upon - you will learn not to touch the hot stove, for example. You will learn not to run into the street. There are the things a child ought to have some say in - potty training would be one example. Some children need a little nudge to move to developmental milestones dictated more by willingness to grow in that area than evolution of physical skill.

Megan, on the other hand, is a girl with her own mind. We can hold our breath until we pass out and she still won't budge on our say so. She will, however, flip the switch on herself, in her own way, at her own time. One night she'll be screaming bloody murder unles she's got someone to rock her to sleep. The next night she's contently singing lullabies to "baby" (aka her doll) as she drifts off on her own in her crib. This latest mini-milestone was the same way. One night she was demanding a full bottle before bedtime stories. The next night she was refusing it out right and asking "More books. Mommy read Bob Builder now."

And so I read. And now that's what we do. We bathe. We dress. We play a little. We read a lot. We go to sleep.

All on her say so.

First "bike"

Megan loves whatever Logan has. With the warm weather, this means Megan loves Logan's bicycle. In an attempt to head off future battles over property, we got Megan her own tricycle - complete with handle for us to push the thing along. She rides a little (and we do mean little) bit. Then she gets off and pushes the trike herself. And then she steals Logan's bike.

Well, we tried.

Size in singing

While I rushed to get something completed and back to the office this morning, Megan watched a Little People video. If you've never seen them, they tend to have cutesy repetitive songs throughout them that dig deep into the recesses of your brain and refuse to get out.

As we rushed from Gymbo to preschool for pick-up, I sang the one that was rattling around my head. "Welcome home. Welcome home. Glad you're back, right on track, welcome home," over and over and over again. I was silly enough to think Meg might giggle at hearing it again.

"Mommy, no sing," she commanded instead.

"Huh?" I said.

"Little People sing that," Megan informed me. "Mommy too big. No sing."