Owlet is sick. She’d been moody and prone to bursting into tears over tiny things in the latter half of last week, but Friday she manifested a full-blown, terrible cold. Friday bedtime and Saturday nap were awful experiences for everyone. She was so sick she just moaned and screamed for ages, stuck in that cycle that toddlers can’t break sometimes, and once she was asleep Friday night she woke up pretty much every hour moaning, “Noses running, noses running.” Poor bunny.

Then, of course, the clocks went back on Saturday night. She’s old enough now that we don’t have to spend the week leading up to a time change shifting the schedule by ten minutes every day to be in line with the new settings. Still, the first nap of Daylight Savings Time is always tricky. We put Owlet to bed, and she kept getting up. (I would like to blame the time shift for this, but she does it often.) I’d put her back to bed four times, and told Sparky to be quiet half a dozen times. I heard a bang from her room, then silence. Maybe she just whacked her hand into the wall while turning over, I thought. It was quiet for a little while longer, and then bang again; it sounded like she was hitting a drawer or something. I opened her door with a little more power than I should have, because I was getting cross with both kids… and there she was, sitting on her little potty, falling asleep with her head nodding to the side, where it was hitting the side of her dresser.

I picked her up, pulled up her leggings, and tucked her into bed. I don’t think she even woke up. It was all I could do not to laugh; she was so determined not to sleep, and she looked so funny.

It was adorable. I still feel bad for her, though; she’s just knackered by this horrible cold, coughing so hard that she sounds like her lungs are being ripped out by the roots, and while she’s getting a bit better, I suspect she’ll be home on Monday, too.