The new up-tairs

Grownups. Last night, despite the tumult and chaos in the house from DST jetlag, without warning Daddy suddenly swooped down upon Hannah's bed (still a pack-n-play, with an extra little mattress) and dragged it downstairs into the dark and squalid room of the Ahzee-Noma. Many hours and tears later ("I wanna go up-tairs, I wanna come owwwwwwt," and the like), Hannah was happy again, asleep as peacefully as she had once been up-tairs. And D. and I congregated compulsively in Hannah's office, savoring its emptiness and our freedom with a tiny tinge of guilt.

Sniff! Who will worry about Daddy--whether he's having his morning doffee, whether he is doin' his email, and whether he likes those things? Who will sit on Daddy's lap to be photographed by the computer's secret camera in the wee hours (thank G-d for that; I had actual, physical pains in my chest, knowing that Hannah's sleep cycles were being tinkered with)? Who will dump out the contents of the file cabinet so trustingly placed within reach - and dumped by this good child only once?  

This morning, to mark her important rite of passage, Hannah padded up the stairs and announced, "I did my shleep, I waked UP! I didit!" Thus ended an era.