Ever since Alexis figured out the trick to wandering the house at all hours of the night, she's been a regular night owl. There have been nights in the past few weeks that I have escorted her back to her bed no less than four times. There's never a fight involved. It's sort of like when a wee little prop plane accidentally veers into restricted air space. The wee little prop plane is perfectly happy to oblige the big nasty fighter planes that are sent to escort it out of harms way. My wee little prop plane goes right back to sleep without a single shot ever being fired. But as she's a Toddler and much more stubborn than that prop plane, she gives it a try again in a few hours. I guess she just wants to see if she can catch me with my Momdar turned off.

Her wandering has, thus far, mostly consisted of wearing a path in the carpet between her room and where us parental units sleep. Back and forth we go, over and over. The most likely reason for her restricted airspace is the fact that I slap a baby gate up at the top of the stairs, so there's really nowhere to go other than our room. I've forgotten the gate a few times (and promptly freaked out when I realized what I had done--the stairs are about three feet outside of her bedroom door and I fear that she will someday fall down those stairs), but I think she thinks it's there, so she doesn't bother to try heading for the kitchen to root for her beloved fruit snacks.

Except for Saturday night. Daddy was sound asleep right where he belonged. Alexis was sleeping in her bed where she belonged. I was sitting on the couch downstairs working on screwing up my blog (It ain't staying this way, peeps. While I like it and all, it doesn't feel like "home." I'm going to have to give it another go.) Alexis must have awakened and realized that there were lights on downstairs. The second I heard her door pop open, I knew I was in trouble. When I heard the familiar sounds of her bum hitting the landing and her feet sliding her forward, I rushed to shut off all the lights.

As I sat in the dark, I could hear her itty bitty feet clamber across the wood floor. She softly chanted, "Mommy" to keep the dogs from attacking. I waited. And waited some more. She had no idea I was sitting ten feet from her as she stood, still softly chanting, "Mommy." Well, until I accidentally blurted, "Go back to bed, Alexis" that is.

I slapped my hand over my mouth faster than you can say gummy worms, but it was too late. The words had been spoken. I sighed and waited for the inevitable footsteps headed in my direction. Surely she would turn into a chimpanzee, latch her arms around my neck, and start picking termites out of my hair. But a strange thing happened, she headed back up the stairs. While she did end up in our bed (Daddy thy name is and forever shall be SUCKER!), I still consider it a victory. The girl went back to bed without her fighter jet escort.

Of course, there might be a logical explanation that does not include her suddenly starting to understand the world without fighter jets. It could just be that her conscious has a voice, and it sounds an awful lot like mine.