Petra has been so impossible during the night that lately I’ve started dreading going to bed myself.  Every night is just. so. rough.  She goes to bed more or less well, but after a couple of hours–just about the time Olof and I head up for the night–things take a turn for the worse.  Her sleep is restless and fitful and she yells and cries and protests most of the night, sometimes waking, sometimes not, but always keeping me from sleep.

She’s not having nightmares or night terrors or anything of the sort, as far as I can tell.  Mostly she’s yelling (at Tage, presumably) “It’s mine!” or some variation on that theme.  He, in the next bed, manages to sleep through all of it, lucky boy, but I’m up at least two or three times a night.  Usually she doesn’t wake up herself, and when she does she is easily enough put back to bed after a visit to the bathroom and maybe a bottle of välling (I know, I know, she’s way too old to be having a bottle, particularly in the middle of the night, but it’s really not all that unusual in Sweden and besides, I’m way too tired to argue about it at 3 a.m.).

I’m not sure what it’s all about, but it’s been going on, to some degree, since some time in the summer.  It’s not nearly as bad, thank God, as it was those first couple of months after Brynja was born, but I can’t help wonder if it doesn’t have the same roots.  The thing is, though, she seemed to settle down with all that for a while before she started up again semi-recently.  Who knows.  In any case, the baby is mostly a good sleeper, so it’s only the one kid getting me up at all hours.  And while it would be nice to be able to make the most of having a good-sleeping baby, I suppose you can’t have everything.