"...but I preminisced no return of the salad days.”

About a week ago, I started writing a post about how easily Violet goes to bed at night, but I shelved it because I didn’t want to jinx what I knew to be, even with my limited baby experience, a rare situation. It seemed prudent to enjoy it while it lasted, and keep my mouth shut. But while I didn’t mention it here, I told people about it at work and on the phone, and even though I know it’s irrational, I can’t help but feel responsible for ending Violet’s somnolent salad days. Starting at about the same time I wrote the aborted post, Violet’s easy nighttime routine took a turn. Where once she was drowsy after her bedtime feeding, and very willing to go to sleep after I placed in her bassinet, now she is wide awake, ready to play. I put her down and she seems confused, looking at me with her big blue eyes as if to say, “But Daddy, it’s still light outside, and I’m not tired,” and before I even leave the room, her cries of protest fill the bedroom. No sound machine, dustbuster, glowing seahorse, or lullaby-singing dog will calm her down, and so we sit in the next room, listening to our daughter wail for a half hour to forty-five minutes; we sit until she tires herself out. I know this isn’t new to any parent, but it’s new to us, and Linda and I have been spoiled. When Violet screams particularly loud, we look at each other, wondering how this happened, and wishing for some quick fix.
                   

192 days old