I never talk about Levi, because he's the middle child and I don't pay any attention to him

Lilah, my former sleep superstar! How your shine has dulled, how your brilliance has faded!

I used to put her in her crib and she'd plug in her thumb and we wouldn't hear from her for the next twelve hours--a routine that we hardly took note of and definitely weren't at all thankful for after two boys who to this day only sleep through the night when heavily drugged.

Lately, though, she's been screaming on and off all night long. I go in to make sure she doesn't have a thumb tack in her diaper, and she puts her fingers to her lips, which sometimes means, I'm thirsty, and sometimes means, I'm hungry, and sometimes means, apparently, You are my bitch. Now dance, woman, dance!

So I give her water, and she lies down. And I think, Oh, that's all she needed. Half an hour later, she's screaming again. So I think maybe she's cutting some teeth and I give her Tylenol, and she lies down. And I think, Oh, that's all she needed. Half an hour later, she's screaming again. So I take her downstairs, put her in her high chair, and give her a snack--some yogurt, maybe, or some pretzels. And we're both yawning and I'm trying not to look at the clock (1:20) and I notice she's been working on the same pretzel for the last five minutes and her head is about to drop into her bowl. So I carry her back upstairs and she cries some more and then it's usually quiet till morning.

After carefully testing these various interventions over the last few weeks and plotting their success in a bar graph, I've come to the conclusion that my daughter is in fact playing me, and I should just let her cry.

After checking to see about that thumb tack.