The biggest lie every parent tells themselves (and believes) is that they are the one in charge.
Yesterday, Belle started to get cranky after lunch, her usual time. So I took her in for a nap. Normally when I put her in her crib she'll protest and cry for two or three minutes and fall into a knockout, a-jackhammer-couldn't-wake-me-up kinda sleep. This time, I took her downstairs, read her a story, and laid her down in her crib. I handed her her favorite stuffed goofy doll, tucked her in, and shut the door. The whole time she just stared at me with a completely neutral look on her face.
When I went upstairs, I turned the baby monitor on and heard nothing. Absolute silence.
I felt proud of myself. "Looks like all that difficulty in getting her to nap is finally paying off!" I told myself smugly. I was so proud that I decided to reward myself with a root beer and some me-time. I sat in my big poofy easy chair with my root beer and my book and had a very relaxing time. I thought I was the Queen.
Then after about twenty minutes I heard a noise.
It wasn't a whimper, or a yell, or a cry. It was singing.
I paused and put my book down to listen. I turned the monitor up and could make out a very faint "ba-da-ga-da-mamama-da-baba-dadada". Belle was babbling very softly in an almost melodic way, as if not to disturb me in my deluded relaxation. After a minute of sitting in my chair and staring at the monitor with this expression...
...I decided to go down and check on her. I slowly pushed open the door to her room and peeked inside.
She had reached through the bars of her crib and grabbed a little board book (Dr. Seuss' ABC's, to be exact) from off the dresser next to her crib, somehow managed to get it back through the bars, and was sitting up in her crib, turning the pages and singing softly to herself.
