A friend of my mother-in-law’s taught me the phrase, “Don’t Die on That Hill”. She was referring to choosing battles with daughters wisely. Having given birth to a child with a hurricane will, I understood the phrase immediately.
I know (better than any of my many critics) that I am a Rookie Mom. But with Sara, it pays to work with her. Anything less will bring a level of disappointment and frustration not seen since that last unfortunate episode of Seinfeld.

After months of sleep coaching with phenomenal night-time results, I’ve chosen to take what I get with her naps. Take it or leave it. We try every day, and every day continues to be a crap shoot. I’ve learned to set my standards
low. Very, very, very low. Like the possibilities that J. Lo will make a good movie low.

But last week, I was determined. I had packing to do and a much deserved Girls Weekend for which to prep. I decided she was staying in that bed during nap time, no matter how much “singing” she tried. When I finally went
into to get her, the joke was on me. There she stood: buck naked head to toe (did I ever find the diaper?), ponytails pulled out leaving a hair style for which I still have no decent analogy, and she had peed all over the bed.
Admittedly, she has a style of negotiation with which I hesitate to compete.

And honestly? I’d take this chic with gumption as my child any day over a complacent little sleepy head. We can pull out our hair all we want, but seriously, this kid fits in at our house.