Going to bed.

If we were keeping score, Remy would be two, us zero. I am trying, and with more diligence than I've done a lot of things, to get Remy on a sleeping schedule. I do this not so much because I feel like I want more time to myself, but because I feel obsessed about his brain growing and retaining things while he sleeps. We have not yet been able to let him cry himself to sleep. I'm a wuss. Tonight we got him out of him crib with the double-head shake sobs and immediately he was quiet. He remains completely quiet when we get him out of his bed past his bedtime, like he knows he's not supposed to be up, and he feels a little guilty, or is trying to lay low, like maybe we won't notice the adorable, round-noggined baby in our midst. When I was little, I also was notorious for sneaking out of my bed after my parent's had gone through exorbitant (at the time unknown by me) amounts of energy and patience to get me there. I distinctly remember slinking out of bed, making myself as small as possible while going through the bedroom door so as not to move a shadow or make a creak, and nearly crawling on my stomach to my place behind the couch. I remember thinking to myself, 'man, am I going to surprise them! My parent's are going to be so excited to see me!' I really and honestly thought that. A testament to their goodness. How the tables have turned. Except, maybe I am actually going to be the undisciplined parent I was worried I was going to be, because I don't mind that Remy is up partying (quietly) with us, even when, according to the book I read, he should have been in bed hours ago.