Over the weekend while Jon was letting me catch an extra hour of sleep he taught Leta how to sit up from a prone position. She was on the verge of this next step in mobility, and I could hear Jon in the living room cheering her on, his voice getting higher and higher with each successful sit up. By the time I got out of bed and went into the living room his voice was so high with excitement that five dogs from the neighborhood were on the porch scratching at our door.

Turns out Leta has the flexibility of a finely trained gymnast and she does this awfully painful looking split thing as she sits up. And of course being the first time parents that we are we stand there and scream delightfully, clapping and hyperventilating because OH MY GOD WE GAVE BIRTH TO A THING THAT CAN SIT UP LOOK AT US GO.

Problem is, she can sit up. I was not prepared for this, and I'm really mad at Jon for absentmindedly giving her the go ahead to reach this milestone. SHE CAN SIT UP. Have you ever tried to put a baby to bed, a baby who can sit up? IT DOESN'T WORK.

Last night Leta sat up at bedtime approximately seven or eight times. We'd leave the room after putting her down and then hear the sound of her legs being brought up underneath her body, and then I'd peek in and her head would be right there like a submarine periscope looking over the edge of the crib. I immediately called my mother and told her what was happening and begged, "Mom, please, come fix this."

She just laughed, that evil woman, and told us we'd have to be patient. PATIENT? It took Leta over an hour to fall asleep after lying down and sitting up and lying down and sitting up. Both Jon and I agreed that we have entered a new realm of parenthood, one that begins with him sleeping on the porch with the neighborhood dogs for teaching her how to sit up. WHAT WAS HE THINKING?