Return to Relative Insanity

So, the little angel doesn't sleep anymore.  Two nights ago, after the hour-and-a-half bedtime bonanza, she treated us to one-hour each wake-ups around 1, 4 and 6.  At six, we just gave up and got up.  That happened a little earlier last night.  She didn't do the 1 a.m. thing, but she got up at 4 and did not go back to sleep until 6.  She slept from 6 to 6:30.  I've been up since 4.  When a small child is screaming at the top of her lungs for more than 30 minutes ten feet from your bed, there's really no point, is there?  Somehow my beloved managed to sleep. I applaud him.

Judgemental Pediatrician, whom I unfortunately got when I took her to before-hours emergency care yesterday (I heard her through the wall chastising a filling-in grandma for her grandson being in daycare), told me that if the little angel stopped crying when I walked into the room and had a) no fever and b) already been administered the appropriate molar-numbing pain killers, that I should turn around and leave the room.  Back to Ferber.  So I did.  Does Dr. Ferber know that small children can scream for an hour and a half?  I do not know that he does.  Or maybe he forgot what it sounds like.  I had one moment in which I seriously considered tape recording her for posterity, but then I thought, no, that's mean.

There's no more fever, but apparently she is growing molars.  Isn't it a funny joke how things like that have to hurt so damn bad?  Why do kids have to do it twice? 

Right now she is grinning at me from her high chair, her eyes puffy from crying and lack of sleep.  I don't get it. I don't get it.  I don't get it.