Dedication

At long last, we had a party for Phoebe. In the words of the invitation:

"This party is for Phoebe-- to say Happy 2nd Birthday, and Welcome Home. Party day will be just around the time of our one year anniversary of getting Phoebe's referral-- the day when we finally saw her picture at the end of our long wait. It will also be almost 10 months since the day she was placed in our arms. So much has happened since then! She has learned to walk and talk, to laugh ("funny!") and sing-- and to love and trust. We want to celebrate the person she is and how blessed we are to have her as our daughter."

We dedicated her that morning at the unitarian church, surrounded by my parent, my sister and her family, and a congregation that has become our home over the last year. Mark and I made these promises to our daughter:

"We are your parents and we will care for you.

We promise to reveal the adventure of life.

We promise to learn from your challenges and inspirations.

We promise to tell you the simple truth.

We promise to pay attention to your small moments.

We promise to open our hearts fully to your love.

We promise to hold your birth parents in a special place in our hearts with deep gratitude for bringing you life.

We promise to teach you about our sisters and brothers around the world.

We love you with all our hearts, and dedicate ourselves to do all that we can to share with you the beauty and goodness of life."

When the white rose touched Phoebe, she gave a perplexed cockeyed look and promptly wiped off its wetness. Little Miranda, with her hand in her mouth for comfort in front of the crowd, managed to whisper "yes" when asked if she would do her best to be a good big sister to Phoebe. My parents promised to share their stories with her as they guide her on her path. And our family and congregation offered their support and encouragement.

We had great Open House party that lasted all day long on Sunday, with a brief intermission for naptime. We have been in Salem for just a year and a half now, and I am so happy to have a great network of friends who make this a wonderful place to be. My sister Lauren and her famil drove all the way from Pennsylvania to join us, which meant the world to me. Phoebe was able to be part of her party in a way she couldn't possibly have done last summer. She ambled about with her little friends-- neighbors, church friends, the twins who met their parents on our same trip to China, companions from storytime and Book Buddies-- thoroughly tearing about the playroom with nothing but glee. She looked a bit shocked and overwhelmed when 45 people surrounded her in song as the cake came out, but held it together in a chair by herself until we blew out the candles together. Boy does this kiddo have a sweet tooth! After 2 pieces of cake and a few cookies, I caught her standing on a chair in the kitchen swiping frosting off the leftover cake. When I interrupted her adventures she just said in the most polite voice possible, "More cake, please."

I am completely in love with this child. Oh, Phoebe Ling, I hope by the day you read this blog yourself, printed in book that you can keep forever, you will be able to say, yes, my parents kept those promises to me. We will do our best.

Signs of Spring

Winter in New England, not an easy thing. But this past weekend was a gift-- 56 degrees, not a cloud in the sky. By the end of the weekend, there were hints of flowers peeking up from the ground, and at long last the piles of dirty snow had mostly disappeared. The town came to life, with the playground crawling with kids burning off months of pent-up energy. I'm not naive enough to think that Spring has come-- this is early March, I know. I imagine there will still be another snow storm or two, and some very cold days. But it won't last. The worst is over. Soon we'll be walking in sandals and hanging laundry out on the line again.

The girls were giddy with excitement. First we got out the tricycles. Last Spring Miranda got hers, but by the end of the summer she still hadn't figured it out. This weekend she discovered that her legs are long enough to reach the pedals and she has enough power to propel forward. The Common has long straight paved paths through the middle, and after a few minutes of false starts and pedaling backwards, she figured it out. "Look! I can do it!" She was off, and so happy to be independently moving. Phoebe needs a little more help from behind to keep moving in the right direction, and some guidance with the handlebars to stay on track, but I promise if you give her another month or two she'll be on her way. So there we were, riding trikes to the Common. No stroller, no Ergo. Big girls on trikes.

And then on Sunday we took a bike ride to the beach about a mile from our house. Last year we tried this, but Phoebe was scared and intimidated and really didn't enjoy the outing at all. This time, it was great fun, with Phoebe narrating the whole way: "Motorcycle!! Bike!! Truck!! Water!!" We parked the bikes and had the beach to ourselves. The girls grabbed their shovels and buckets, and took off on their own little beach adventures. Mark and I, parents of girls who grew up over the winter, stood back with the sun on our faces and the quiet waves of the harbor before us. We talked about where we are now, and were we are going in the next few years. Spring does this sort of thing to people.

It's like coming out of the dark. When added Phoebe to the family, we spent a good deal of time hunkering down and being, well, a family of four. We walked on eggshells last summer, constantly wondering if Phoebe was overstimulated, insecure, scared, overwhelmed. I remember avoiding the Laurie Berkner music video-- Miranda's favorite-- because it was just too action-packed for Phoebe to handle. We kept outings short, our body contact maximized, and our separations minimal. And now, Spring comes, and suddenly, Phoebe is a well-adjusted kid.

It's a funny thing about adopting a toddler. Last year at this time, we were expecting a baby. I had saved all of Miranda's baby clothes from sizes 3-6 months up, and all the baby paraphernalia. Phoebe was older than we expected, and bigger and sturdier than we imagined. So here we are, less than a year later, with a kid who wears underpants, speaks in sentences, sleeps in a big girl bed, and rides a tricycle. Our baby days are over. There's great celebration as we hit each milestone. I love to hear Phoebe shout "I did it!" But when Miranda curls up in my arms and says, "I'm your little teeny tiny baby" when she wants to cuddle, I can't help but miss those early days.

Hurry, hurry Spring! I think we are in for one very fun summer around here.

Happy Birthday, Phoebe!

Birthday tricycle. . .
Sisters!
The official Phoebe at Two portrait on the red chair.
Yum, birthday ice cream!
Blow!

Phoebe is now two years old, which she will tell you with a very curt and definitive "tu" with her fingers held up. Miranda is quite pleased with the idea that they are both two now, and told me "I don't want to be three."

I think every parent of an adopted child knows about the extra layer of emotions that underlies their child's birthday. We sing and blow candles and Skype with grandparents and open gifts and celebrate. But at night, after our child is down, now one year older, we think about the day she was born. Oh, Phoebe. I so wish I had information to give her. We have books called "The Night You Were Born" and "The Day You Were Born"-- written independently, by completely different authors-- both which depict nature singing in celebration for the birth of a child. We read these, and I do think the great world sang when Phoebe was born. But clearly there was pain and sadness there, whatever her story was. I thank her birth parents for giving her life, and her birth mother for carrying her and birthing her. While I am so thankful to have Phoebe as my daughter, I can't help but to sting a bit at the injustice of the world that her birth mother can't experience the joy of this child. I don't know what happened-- maybe she didn't want to parent, who knows. But if it was poverty and politics that forced her to leave her child to be found-- in a country where putting a child up for adoption is illegal, so leaving identifying information for "open adoption" is never an option-- my heart breaks for her.

But on the celebrating front-- Phoebe's doing beautifully well. I was away all last weekend in Pennsylania celebrating my niece Claire's last dose of chemotherapy, and Phoebe did fine with my absence and return. She needed some extra snuggling the next day, but nothing more, and Miranda needed it, too. We did a third try at babysitting at the gym this week. The first time, Phoebe willingly stayed with no tears after I spent 30 minutes or so with her in transition. The second time, she cried when I left with a beeper and strict instructions to call me for more than 2 minutes of tears-- I never got paged, she did fine. This time, after much verbal preparation, Phoebe joined her sister in an excited dance at the gate to Kid's Club, saying "Bye-bye Mama" before I could kiss her goodbye. I spied a bit when I returned, and found Miranda and Phoebe in the company of a six year old who was leading them in Ring-a-Round-the-Rosy and Follow the Leader, crawling in a line on the floor. I watched Phoebe join both hands with her new friend and jump up and down laughing. When I called their names, my Two Girls came tumbling into my arms, happy to see me and ready to go. I nearly cried.

There are moments like that when I think, we've done it! Attached! Secure! And then. . .just two nights later, while Mark was working late, my cell phone rang during bathtime. There was massive obstetric disaster at the hospital, with one doc operating alone and the on-call back-up 35 minutes away. I live 6 minutes away. I whipped the kids out of the bathtub, threw on diapers and pajamas, tossed them in the car, and sped away. Miranda got it, saying from her carseat as we pull into the ambulance bay, "Mama, a baby needs your help right now? You have to help someone?" But poor Phoebe. I tried telling her all the things that worked at Kid's Club, "Mama is going to kiss you goodbye and then I'll come back in a little while. Your mama always comes back." But when we ran in to the hospital and I plunked her in the lap of the secretary at the nurse's station and kissed her goodbye, her scared little face melted in panic. Now, I knew there was someone potentially dying in the OR, and the nurses were pleading with me, "Don't worry, we'll take care of her, GO!" I paused, kissed her, looked her in the face, and told her I loved her. We've been so careful never to do this to her, never to leave when she isn't ready for it. I think it was the most painful moment I've had with Phoebe since I became her mother. Leaving Phoebe is not like leaving Miranda.

I left her. She cried, and then hunkered down in a stranger's lap with her fingers in her mouth while Miranda had great adventures with stickers, temporary tatoos, and snacks. The patient survived-- a miracle, given the situation. I came to find Phoebe an hour later, just before Mark showed up. She came into my arms, but in that quiet, finger-sucking, tear-streaked, withdrawn way. As we buckled the kids into their carseats, Miranda boasted "Mama, I did not cry!" and Phoebe perked up to her usual self. But the whole thing was a reminder, again, that Phoebe-- who has fewer issues than I ever dreamed a kid adopted as a 15 month old toddler could-- is broken. Our work is not done.

But on her birthday, I celebrate her! Her progress is amazing. I love to hear the conversations. After a sneeze: "Bless you, Miranda." "Thank you, Phoebe." "Welcome, Miranda." Phoebe is in big girl panties all day now, and falls to sleep happily in her own bed after I tuck her in. She sings the ABCs (with some mumbling around LMNOP), and counts to 9. She moved up to the big girl classroom (parents leave rather than stay) at Early Intervention school this week, where she is officially "a community kid" since she placed out of services. She can do one good Hokey Pokey dance. She's strong and healthy and bright. How on earth did we get so lucky?

Happy 2nd Birthday, Phoebe!

Vacation

I learned this week that "Stay-cation" is actually a word, and I suppose that's what we are doing. Since we came home from China eight months ago, we've been working, and at some point we decided it might be a good idea to give our nanny a break and take a week off. So, what have we done? Well, Mark and I both visited the dentist. I closed out a bank account and ordered the missing screws for our broken high chair. Bought new jeans. Finished a novel. Worked out several times. Sent Mark off to yoga class. Visited a few schools for the girls, and decided on Montessori. Took the girls to a local museum filled with model railroads and dollhouses. Bounced in a moon bounce and learned for the first time in my life how to keep a hoola-hoop up. But for the exciting stuff--

Number one, Mark and I went on a date. Actually, TWO dates! Shocking! The babysitter was a nanny of our neighbors, and the girls have always loved her. We instructed Dook on the bedtime routine, but told her that we fully expected that the girls would be awake when we got home at 8:15, especially Phoebe. But when we walked in the door, the house was silent. Both girls had gone down without so much as a sniffle. "Phoebe's fine," Dook told us. "She's normal. I think you can go out more often." In the morning, the girls woke up with no trouble at all and told us what a great time they had with Dook. Meanwhile, Mark and I had drinks at the historic hotel a few blocks from home that we had never been inside, followed the dinner at our favorite restaurant in Salem-- that we hadn't been to since, oh, the month we moved into Salem. Then later in the week the two of us drove in to Boston for a slow afternoon stroll through the Museum of Fine Arts. It was like old times. So nice!

Number two-- this is big news!-- we started potty training. Phoebe had a headstart in all of this, because I'm pretty sure she was potty trained in China. Every picture I have of her in foster care she was sitting on a beaten up old wicker chair with a pot underneath it. On our first morning together in the hotel in Nanchang, Phoebe woke up with a dry diaper. We put her on the potty and did the "shushsush" we had heard about, and sure enough, she peed-- but screamed while she did it with a panic that I didn't understand. Enough of that-- we put the diaper back on her and kept her off the potty after that.

We've had potties in the bathrooms for more than a year, frequently give stickers just for sitting on the potty, and occasionally check out the Prudence video from the library, but there had been very little potty action. So this week, I was changing Phoebe's diaper in the playroom while telling Miranda, "You, too, one day will tinkle on the potty," when suddenly Phoebe shouts "Potty!" She springs up and darts to the bathroom, sits down on the potty, concentrates, and poops! Oh, Miranda cheered and cheered. Since then, for four days in a row, Phoebe had pooped on the potty. She gets a great look of concentration, then whispers to me "coming" followed by "did it." Well, Miranda has been trying and trying, now that her little sister is doing it. We did a day of training pants, but she only wet them. We sat on the potty, and read lots of books. Nothing. She was very game to try, but after long patient attempts with a bladder that I knew was full, she couldn't figure out the coordination. She finally asked for a diaper, and it was wet in a minute.

Tonight, Phoebe's call for the potty came during bath time. That is a big improvement over the days when we had to evacuate Miranda from the tub on a regular basis after Phoebe's mid-bath accidents. Phoebe got out soaking wet, and did her usual productive thing. Suddenly Miranda yelled, "I have to tinkle!" and sure enough-- she did it, in the potty, with a great look of surprise and pride on her face. Lucky for us, just before dinner Miranda had discovered how to independently use the spigot on the water jug in the kitchen, so she drank about three glasses of water with her meal. So she proceeded to pee a total of four times before bath time was over. She got it! In between Miranda's moments Phoebe actually stuck back onto the potty for a repeat performance when we weren't looking. That was one busy potty! I couldn't stop cheering and hugging and handing out stickers to my big girls. Plan for tomorrow: training pants, lots of salty snacks, and a whole day at home learning that there is an alternative to diapers. Some people take a February vacation in the Caribbean. But for us, well, here's to Stay-cation.

(Oh, Miranda and Phoebe, I'm sorry to go public here. I'm writing this whole blog for you, you know, to chronicle our early years together. I can't help it here-- you can't imagine how wonderful it is to watch you two learn how your bodies work, and to watch you so quickly change from babies to little girls. You'll understand how exciting potty training is only if you have kids of your own one day. Until then, my apologies.)

Snippets

This week, Mark and I are on vacation. This is a stay-at-home vacation, with no plans to go far. To be honest, there are lots of plans. I'm letting Mark stay unaware of the schedule, and each evening I let him know what is on the itinerary the next day, so as not to feel over-programmed and overwhelmed. In between the date nights, yoga classes, dentist appointments, Children's Museum, preschool visitations, etc, there is a lot of time to just be together.

The girls are really getting to be a lot of fun to be with. Every night after dinner we have a jam session of favorite songs, and they won't let us stay sitting down. Hokey-Pokey is the current favorite, but the Alligator Song is a close favorite (it involves some snapping and a progress decrease in the number of monkies sitting on the tree). Phoebe loves Wheels on the Bus, and sings an impressive number of letters in the alphabet song. Ring-a-Round-the-Rosy is also high entertainment around here.

Phoebe is now up to four word sentences, like "I drop it, please" (= Please pick it up for me), "I like it, please" (= Can I have some please?), and "Opa, where are you?" (when Opa drifts out of view on the Skype video call).

Miranda's conversations are quite interesting now. Today Phoebe put on new shoes that came with a squeak in the sole and Miranda said, "Oh, they squeak! That make me smile and laugh." Yesterday when a song she liked came on she said, "This was my faaaavorite song when I was a little kid." When I told her the reason I had not hung a Chinese string of beads in the car was that I didn't have a hanger she told me, "That's okay. Maybe the hanger truck will come and bring some." I remember someone telling me when Miranda was nine months old that it only gets to be more and more fun as they get older. Now two and a half years into parenting, I completely agree.

The girls are becoming closer and closer in their developmental age as Phoebe catches up to her big sister, nine months ahead. They both suddenly got interested in Playdough enough to keep themselves busy for 20 minutes or so with a rolling pin and cookie cutters. They can wash their hands themselves, and brush their teeth. We now read books together at night, and while Miranda absorbs the storyline and asks questions, at least now Phoebe is content to sit attentively through the whole reading of Madeline or Horton Hatches the Egg. In some things, Phoebe is now passing Miranda. Phoebe learned to spit while brushing her teeth, while Miranda just can't get past the idea of not swallowing the swig of water. And today after I gave Miranda the pep talk of "Maybe someday you'll sit on the potty and tinkle just like I do," Phoebe suddenly said "Potty!" She ran to the bathroom where I helped undo her diaper, and sure enough, she sat on the pot and produced. Miranda cheered and cheered for her-- with no hint of being upstaged by her little sister.

The other day Two Girls were running in and out of the living room, each time with an announcement to me of "We'll be RIGHT-- BACK!" After several rounds of this, I darted into the play tent after they made their exit. On return, they trotted in and then stopped dead when they found the empty room. "Where's Mama?" Miranda asked. And then she answered her own question with a whisper into Phoebe's ear: "She's hiding. Let's find her!" After a whole round of false leads by Mark ("Do you think she's under the blanket? Nope, not there!"), I sneezed for them. When Phoebe opened the tent door and found me inside, you can't imagine the jumping and laughing and howling that followed from my two girls.

On the sleep front, I am amazed. It took Phoebe a total of eight days of "Sleep Training" before she would just let us lay her down on her pillow and sit on the far side of the room in a rocker while she fell asleep quickly and quietly. There were just two days of crying when I sat at the foot of her bed and told her over and over again that it's okay, I'm here. Last night, as soon as I turned out the lights, she said, "Nite-nite, please," and didn't even let me hold her in the rocker for Thank You Prayers. I lay her down and she snuggles into her pillow, looking as happy as can be. I tell her she looks snug as a bug in her big girl bed, kiss her, and walk away. I am so proud of Phoebe. Sleep is a major issue for kids who are adopted, and I worried a lot about if she was ready to be out of our bed and our arms, sleeping on her own. I'm quite sure now that she was ready, and I think she's really proud of her accomplishments. She talked to all three of her grandparents this weekend, and the first thing she said to each of them--unprompted-- was "Big Girl Bed!" Truth be told, she still wakes up once or twice every night, and sometimes I end up falling asleep at the foot of her bed, but I'm trusting that with time those awakenings will disappear.

A major change, too, is that after double-teaming for getting into pajamas and brushing teeth, now Mark and I take turns reading books and tucking in, while the other cleans up from dinner. With this new divide-and-conquer method, we have the evening to ourselves as early as 8:00 pm. Oh, what a change! I have my professional life organized, my desk cleared, suppers cooked ahead of time, and groceries in the fridge. I'm 200 pages into a novel-- the first book I've read since China. Mark and I have time to lounge around the living room while he plays the guitar and I read. We are about one week into this new life, and it feels absolutely decadent. We are returning to balance around here.

Big Changes

A few nights after Phoebe arrived in our arms in China, we had our guide translate her papers from foster care. What we had already discovered by trial and error was confirmed: "If you try to lay her down in her crib to put her to bed, she'll cry. You have to hold her until she falls asleep."

Now, we had that same problem with Miranda at four months old, and our pediatrician said that falling asleep at the breast was trouble. He convinced us that a baby needs to know how to put herself to sleep, and "crying it out" is the way to do it. It took only a few painful nights, and then Miranda figured it out. Since then, we've tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and walked out of the room.

Contrast that to Phoebe. Our routine, seven months into our life together, was to finish the bedtime rituals and then lay down with her in the master bed until she fell asleep. If it took more than 15 minutes, I generally gave up and put her in the Ergo while I puttered around downstairs, and then would transfer her to the crib after she fell asleep on my back. At the first nighttime awakening, we pulled her into the master bed again. For naps, our nanny used the Ergo 100% of the time, and then transferred to the crib. Phoebe hadn't once in her whole life little life put herself to sleep.

That was the routine as it usually worked-- "whatever it takes" and "it's only a phase, it won't last forever" were things we said. True, not very good sleep hygiene, but it worked. Except when it didn't. If we rose out of the master bed or transferred her out of the Ergo too quickly and misjudged just how deeply asleep we thought she was, she would awaken with a second wind. Goodbye evening time-- cooking tomorrow's dinner, finishing documentation from the day's office hours, and doing the laundry. Yes, fun to have extra playtime for this mom who works too much. But, oh, it made me crabby to have Phoebe up and chipper until 10:30 at night when I called it quits. A few days after the big girl beds arrived, this missed window routine happened twice, and that was about it. I had it. Something had to give.

You can't Ferberize an kid adopted as a toddler-- or at least I can't do it to Phoebe. One mom who adopted with us shared what she sees as the mistakes she made with her first adopted child (I'm so thankful!), and she feels like Ferberizing was one of the big ones. The last thing Phoebe needs is to cry it out alone in a dark room, wondering if she's arrived at the next great abandoment in her life.

So, we are trying "Good Night, Sleep Tight" by "The Sleep Lady," Kim West. It's a kinder and gentler way to Ferberize. We had to lay down some groundrules: Phoebe sleeps only in Phoebe's room. The bedtime rituals always happen, in order, no variation. Rules are rules, 100% of the time. Nap and bedtime happen on schedule, and nap ends after 2.25 hours. We moved Phoebe's big girl bed into our bedroom, tucked under the sloping attic ceiling a ways away from our bed. And we told Phoebe that we are teaching her to sleep.

We tuck her in, kiss her goodnight, and then stay present in the room, but ignore her until she goes to sleep, with nothing more than some "Shhhh" comforting sounds. The first night, I lay with her but not touching her. She talked and babbled and counted and bounced until she fell asleep. You can't believe how quickly she caught on. On night #4, Mark stood by the bedside rather than in it, and was out of the room with Phoebe's sound asleep in 10 minutes. Last night (#5) I sat at the foot of her bed and played with my iPhone while she drifted off, 15 minutes. We only had crying on one night. And the nanny-- she's done better than we have with naps. It takes her two minutes, no failures so far.

We'll keep moving further away, with the first big goal being to be able to sit on the master bed with the laptop until Phoebe falls asleep. Middle of the night awakenings are still there, and we've debated how to handle them. For now, we are still climbing into bed with her-- but not letting her into our bed. I think those awakenings will just disappear, eventually, maybe after she has learned how to put herself to sleep.

In addition to these major sleep changes, yesterday was another milestone. I brought the kids to the "Kid's Club" at the YMCA, where Miranda loves to stay while I run upstairs to the gym. There is a strict "no parents beyond this point" policy, so I wasn't at all sure how Phoebe would walk away from me to engage on the other side. She watched Miranda play from my arms for a while, and then asked to get down and play. I passed her over the wall and said goodbye. She said "Bye-bye" back and I slipped out with no tears. I checked on her every 5-10 minutes, and the sitters kept giving me thumbs-up through the glass windows. When I returned for good, she ran into my arms with smiles, and told me she had fun.

I've learned in these last few months that the rules of parenting an adopted child are different than that of biologic children. I've been much more cautious and slow with Phoebe, and I worry much more about her emotional wellbeing. When Phoebe headbutted me the other day and I sternly (perhaps too sternly) reprimanded her through the stars I was seeing, I watched her face transform from amusement to utter devastation, and I worried in that moment that she thought she was losing my approval and love forever. Someone asked me during these sleep discussions how long the attachment issues usually last with adopted kids, and I took a deep breath with the realization that no matter how smoothly things go, pieces of these issues will be with Phoebe forever.

Having said that, I think times are changing here. We are coming out of the early days of our adoption, and transitioning into more "normal" family dynamics. These days Phoebe is learning to trust that she is safe and loved even alone in her bed, and that her mama will of course return from the gym. Soon we'll be getting a babysitter for date night, and maybe we'll all be sleeping the night.

Big Girl Beds

About two months ago Mark came downstairs after putting Miranda down and said, "I hope this wasn't a major tactical error, but Miranda said, 'Miranda want sleep in guest room,' so I let her." And that was the end of the crib for Miranda. Since then I've been logging on daily to Craig's List looking for the perfect matching set of wooden beds, and finally scored. Mark set out in a rented U-Haul to pick up the set, and I got to work disassembing the cribs. Phoebe got a bit upset at all the commotion, and kept asking "Happen?", which is Phoebe-speak for "What is going on?" By the time Mark came home, the nursery was gone-- the changing table, the old dresser, the twin cribs.

I underestimated how much work it is to set up a bedroom-- washing down two beds and two dressers, and then assembling them all. And who knew what all is involved in a bed-- the bed, the rails, the mattress, the mattress pad, the sheets, the skirt (which needed to be ironed), the pillows, the blankets, the comforters. Phew! It was midnight-- with Miranda sound asleep in the guest room for the last time-- when we finished.

In the morning, after quite a big build-up, the kids opened the door of the their bedroom like it was Christmas morning. They ooohh'd and ahh'd and giggled. Miranda was impressed with the "door" where the guardrail breaks, though she struggled to hoist her little self up through the opening and onto the bed. "My big girl bed!" she declared over and over. Phoebe just looked with her fingers in her mouth, thinking "Hey, does this mean I can't sleep with Mom and Dad anymore?" and eventually flat out declared "No" when asked if she liked her bed. But Miranda was tickled. And she slept a great night last night alone in her bedroom.

So, now, we are done with breast feeding, bottles, pacifiers, and cribs. I do believe the baby days are nearly over for this family. Tonight I sat in Miranda's bed with one girl on each side of me, reading one last book before turning out the lights. Then I tucked her in, pulled up the blanket, made sure the pillow was comfortable, and kissed her goodnight. My big girl!