More server fireworks. More mid-night awakenings. This is turning into one helluva week.

So Daphne awoke again at about 3am this morning.
At least I think she did.
In all honestly she might’ve been up earlier.
See, I accidentally left the volume turned all the way down on the scream emitter baby monitor, so I didn’t hear her yelling until it was loud enough to reach me without electronic assistance.

I opened my eyes and stared at the little screen as she wailed, “MA MA MA MA MA!  DA DA DA DA DA DA DA!” and shook the bars of her crib, systematically testing the “fence” for weaknesses.

Eventually she tripped over a stuffed animal or a blanket or something and dropped out of view.
Suddenly, the cries stopped.
Upon which the requisite PARENT MOMENT ensued, and I began to wonder…”is she okay?”  But then came the dulcet sound of thumbsucking, so I nodded, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

And just as I did so, Jib scratched at the back door.

So I got back up, let him out, and stood there with my head leaning against the door while he did his thing.  I’m assuming that the new bag of food is messing with his tummy, as he had some intense intestinal issues on our walk this morning too.  (This theory doesn’t make a lot of sense, as it’s the exact same brand/type as the old food, but it’s the only thing I can think of.)

Eventually Jib came inside, and I crawled back into bed and slept until a text arrived just before 7am informing me that the entire office network was down…again.

There are very few ice-cold buckets of “YOU WAKE THE HELL UP, RIGHT THIS INSTANT!” that are stronger than that particular text message.

Up I got, and I started diagnosing the problem without the assistance of visuals, Google, Wikipedia, or coffee.  My colleagues eventually got things up and running (with minor, garbled assistance on my part), and I subsequently left the house slightly earlier than I normally would…just in time to hit an hour’s worth of traffic on a 27-mile commute.

And, somehow, it’s only Wednesday.

I know, I know…  Poor, pitiful BumbleDad.

I did really appreciate the fact that Daphne went back to sleep on her own, though.  Hopefully this “Cry it Out-Lite” tactic I came up with will work.  Meaning that we only go up to reassure her/tuck her back in after she’s been crying for at least 30 minutes.  It’s indescribably difficult to listen to your child crying and calling for you and not go to them…  But it isn’t logistically feasible for one of us to stand there next to her every single night, all night, so this needs to happen.

I also heard that going in to soothe them in ascending 5 minute intervals (5, then 10, then 15, etc.) is another strategy, and one we might try it one if this one ends up failing.

We’ll see.

j.s.