Smarty-pants Mrs. Pantley

Oh crap, it's tomorrow

When my daughter was six months old, she stopped sleeping through the night. The word, stopped, is not a typo. She was one of those freakishly strange children who started sleeping through the night at the very young age of eight weeks. I am not a sleep whisperer; she just did it.

Until she just didn’t. It all started when my then-husband and I took a trip with her during winter break to New York City. We stayed at my ex-brother in law’s (is that a word?) apartment.

(Based on his inability to operate social media and technology, I’m going to assume that my ex-brother-in-law is not reading this), and just bluntly state that he’s the opposite of someone who exhibits caring behaviors. He is somewhat “machista” in his outlook on life.

So, as you can imagine, when we stayed at his home I was expected to follow his rules…

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