Since she’s been about a year, E. has been a pretty good sleeper. Sure, there were the odd sleepless nights here and there when teething or illnesses kept her (and me!) up. But for the most part, she goes to bed and stays in bed.

Plus, she’s always been a pretty late sleeper. The earliest she ever gets up is 7. Usually it’s more in the 8, 8:30 and sometimes as late as 9 range (I’m ducking as you all throw things at me. But hey, she hasn’t napped since 2, so she’s got to make it up somewhere!).

Lately, though, she’s kinda obsessed with crawling into bed with us during the night. It doesn’t happen every night. In fact, I’d say it, on average, happens no more than 2 to 3 (tops) nights a week. And for months, it was simply her crawling into bed around 4:30 and cuddling up close and falling right back to sleep. Frankly, I love it. She’s never been a super cuddly baby, so I love when she does it.

And then there are nights like last night.

At about 2:30 a.m., I heard her get out of her bed through the monitor (I have no idea how the sounds of her tiny feet hitting the ground wake me up every time, but it always does, even from the deepest sleeps. Side effect of being a mom, I guess — supersonic hearing).

I waited for her to get to our room. And I waited. And I waited. I was about to get up to see if she was in the bathroom when she finally appeared in my doorway and started pointing to the living room TV (our bedroom is just off the living room) and started saying “show” over and over again. Meaning: she wanted to watch TV. At 2-freaking-30 in the morning. What is she, a college student all the sudden? Next is she going to demand I make some munchies, too?

Me: “No, it’s night-night time.”

Her: “No, I want to watch a show. Show. Show. Shooooooooooow”

Then the tears start. I tell her to come to my bed, thinking she’ll lay down and fall right to asleep (because there’s no way she’s really awake, right?)

Me: “Lay down and let’s go to sleep.”

Her: “No, I want shoooooooooow. Shooooooooow. Shooooooow. Shoooooooooooooooow.”

Then she really started crying. Like yelling, screaming, tantruming crying. Have I mentioned yet that it was 2:30?

I’m not going to lie. After about 5 minutes of this, I almost caved. I really did. I almost started surfing through the channels in our bedroom. But then a voice in my head told me to stand my ground (er, bed) and not allow it. Otherwise, it’d be a slippery slope of night parties. Next thing I’d know, I’d have Charlie Sheen for a daughter and instead of sleeping at night, she’ll just be waiting (if you don’t get that, then you need to start catching up some Charlie Sheen interviews immediately. It’d gold, people. Gold. But I digress).

After another few minutes of her crying in my ear and demanding a show, I gave her a choice — stop crying right now and you can sleep here or go back to your bed.

She finally started to calm down but there was still cries for shows for at least 20 more minutes.

Needless to say, when the alarm went off in the pre-dawn hours for my run, I was even crankier than usual. But I forced myself out of bed and left a conked out E and DadJovi sleeping.

When I get back, he says to me, “When did she come to our bed?”

Me: “You’re joking, right?”

Him: “No, I never heard her come in.”

Me: “You didn’t hear her SCREAMING in OUR BED for 30 minutes because I wouldn’t let her watch a show?”

Him: “No. She was crying in her room?”

Me: (getting increasingly annoyed) “No, not in her room. IN. OUR. BED.”

Him: “Nope, guess not.”

Seriously, are dads just missing those hearing powers? Does that only come from actually carrying the child? Unbelievable.

So, we survived the showdown.

Please tell me my child isn’t the only one looking to burn the midnight oil? How do you deal with nighttime tantrums? What’s the strangest thing your child has done during the night?