After trying for 30 minutes and failing to get Mabel to take her afternoon nap, we got back up. It took two hours to get her down this morning so I needed to get the chicken in the oven and a few other things before spending that kinda time on it again. She fussed while I prepped dinner, whined while I loaded the dishwasher, cried while I switched the laundry, and yelled while I took a shower. An hour of complaining. Okay, let’s go nap. Get upstairs, nurse for a bit, switch sides, yada yada yada.. Then she rolls over and starts talking to the ceiling fan in her sweetest ever voice.
I spent a minute envisioning punching her with my boob or something (Thwap!) but finally settled for “Mabel! It is time to go to sleep!” Which ended up sounding far more exasperated than stern, and in my normal level of speaking, but serious nonetheless.
She went completely still. Pushed her face under my boob and whispered for a minute (conferring with…?), then popped back on to nurse and was asleep in 30 seconds.
Seriously, who’s living under my boob?