So on Friday night, we’re up in Duluth, and we put the Hatchling down around 10:30, as per usual, expecting that being as how we were in a new place and all, she’d probably get up earlier than usual, maybe in an hour or so. We went to bed shortly thereafter. I woke up at 3:18 and realized she hadn’t made a peep yet. So I jumped to the obvious conclusion: she must be dead. I leapt out of bed and went over to the bassinet to see if I could feel her breath with my hand. In attempting to do so, I accidentally hit her cheek. She stirred, and my maternal reaction went in only seconds from relief (she’s not dead!) to fear (Mr. Squab will kill me if I woke her up!). I jumped back into bed, and lo: she kept sleeping until 5:30 in the morning. And just to cement the deal, she did the same thing last night. Oh, blessed day.
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