I knew from the night before last when she was running her little hands back and forth across the crib bars like a convict with a tin cup that our baby had the soul and grit of a prisoner.
Night two of exile, she resigned herself to her fate. After a couple of back-patting reassurance visits around 9 and 10 ish, and a weird, but amusing, laughing/gleeful squealing before self-soothing episode around 11, she slept right through until 7 am. Special shout-out to my Sharper Image sound machine and its “surf’s up” setting.
She is such a good little baby. And thank god, because her stupid parents tried to stay up to watch the WSOP final table (and failed since it went on until 5 am).