"Momma! Momma! Momma! Momma!" Rachel yelled before she started pounding on the door.
"MOMMY! *POUND* *POUND* MOMMY!" Apparently she's desperate now.
What is the point of her learning how to open up her bedroom door if she won't do it in the middle of the night so that I don't have to get out of bed and do it for her?
"What's wrong, sweetie?" I asked, opening her door so she could run into my arms. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "What do you need?"
"A coo-coo," she sniffed innocently.
Translation: I want a cookie.
"Well, that's too bad because it's 5 o'clock in the morning. That means it's still the middle of the night and I don't hand out cookies in the middle of the night."
She looked at me and sniffed sadly again and repeated herself, "A coo-coo."
"No cookies. It's time to be asleep, so hop back in bed."
"A momma," she tried.
Translation: I want momma.
"Do you want to come in bed with momma, then?" I asked, afraid that if I had to squat while holding her any longer I was going to fall flat on my face, completely squishing her in the process.
"Yeah, a momma!"
"Alright, but you have to be quiet and go to sleep," I warned her.
Famous last words. Rachel is a wriggle worm, if I've ever met one. She spent the next hour squirming around the bed, stroking my face, wrapping herself around me like a monkey, taking up my whole pillow, etc., etc., etc.
Finally, I kicked her out of bed. She insisted she had to go potty before she got into her own bed, so we did that, and then she climbed back in bed.
"A coo-coo," she tried again.
"No cookies. It's time for sleeping."
So she snuggled down with her Pooh Bear, Pound Puppy, and Baby Doll and I didn't hear from her until 11:00 AM.
When she woke up she didn't even ask for a cookie. Amazing.