It's a long way

Mabel was "helping" me do a counties-of-Ireland puzzle given to us by a well-meaning relative a year or two ago. It's actually quite tricky and has been fairly educational for myself and the husband. The children enjoy the loud sounds the wooden pieces make as they fall to the floor.

She had helped B with it yesterday, so was familiar with a few of the names. As I worked my way up the west coast (the easy side) she hoarded all the other pieces and I heard her muttering, "Lim'ick, there's Lim'ick. Where's Tipp-a-ary?" She particularly likes Leitrim, which she pointed out is remarkably like a dachshund. (The county shapes may not be strictly geographically accurate, since in real life the country doesn't need jigsaw bulges and inlets to keep it hanging together.)

In a little while, I had managed the whole thing, almost. "Fermanagh, goes with Monaghan. We need Fermanagh. Have you seen it? Is it on the floor?"
She peered down. "There's Fe'managh."
"Will you get it for me?"
"I get it for you Tuesday."
I'm waiting for her to ask me to spot her a hamburger.


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It occurred to me that recent nights' terrible bedtimes may be some sort of nighttime manifestation of separation anxiety, since Mabel has also been very unwilling to let me leave after putting her back to sleep on the first waking. This has led to annoying things like my finally getting to brush my teeth at 1.30am, or having to take out my contact lenses in the dark in her bedroom (it's okay; they're disposables). Not to mention the annoying thing that is my not getting more than 20 minutes a night in my own bed.

(Interpolation: Mabel has an elevated status now: her mattress went up on the futon it belonged to for the grannies' visit, and I decided to leave it there when she went back to her room and call it her bed. As it was for her brother before her. It has the advantages of being somewhere between a single and a full in size, so there's plenty of room for us both, and dipping somewhat in the middle so she's unlikely to fall off. It also has no sharp corners, which I like for a child who enjoys throwing herself dramatically around. On the down side, it squeaks and creaks and clunks and ba-joinnggggs every time I move, so sneaking out after she's fallen asleep is that much harder. I'm thinking she might get a real little bed from IKEA for her birthday.)

Anyway. I went to Ask Moxie and searched "separation anxiety 2 years" and whadaya know, there's a great big developmental spurt just around this time that gives them separation anxiety and sleeping problems and tantrums and you name it. I have to admit that sometimes the sceptic in me thinks that whatever random number of weeks or months or years you ask Moxie about, she's got a sleep regression for that; but all those commenters chiming in about the hellish time their just-two-year-olds are giving them still made me feel better.

So I was able to be just that bit nicer to the poor child when she woke up last night, now that I can assume that it's not going to last forever and that after the hump things might even improve significantly. I doubt she'll be sleeping through the night in two months' time (as her brother was, the one I thought then was the terrible sleeper), but only waking once would be heaven. I was afraid that I'd turned her into a committed co-sleeper and I'd be stuck in her bedroom till she was seven (and that may yet be the case), but perhaps it's not so bad.

But also: developmental spurt? The child can already climb everything there is to climb at the playground, say the whole alphabet, spell her brother's name, and ask you why the chicken crossed the road. What's she going to be doing next - quadratic equations? In Latin? While scaling K-2 and perfecting her standup routine? I dread to think.