At 3:30pm, the twins had still not fallen asleep.
Naptime is 1 o'clock. One. Not two, not three, one. I had been listening to them squeal and cry, going in every half hour or so to give them back their pillows and blankets and hope they would go to sleep. But at 3:30, they were still awake.
I heard Grant cry. The very tired, upset wail that I thought meant the same thing as every other day's tired upset wail, and he just needed his stuff that he threw out and he would be happy.
I made him wait.
Why did I do this? Because in my time as a mother of twins, I have learned that going in right away will mean that it becomes a game, and the boys will simply throw their things out more often to get to see Mommy. So I make them wait until they really want their stuff back, then I go in and give it to them and they will keep it. So I made him wait.
My theory was wrong.
I went in after twenty minutes of his crying, and found Grant had been trying to escape. He had one leg slung over the crib rail and was stuck, balancing on his toes of the other leg. And he was crying.
Unknowingly, I left my son in that position for twenty minutes. He is fine, and I thought he had gone back to sleep, but I hear him once again.
The worst part is, this near-escape means it is time for toddler beds, which scares the bejeebies out of me. I am not looking forward to this next change.