<http://schema.org/articleBody>
"Hello! They are currently testing the fire alarms in my building. Every time the alarm sounds, I&amp;#x27;m startled and think, &amp;quot;Run for cover! Grab JD and MacBook. Go, go, go. The alarm is loud. I mean, loud, and I like that. In my old apartment, it just &amp;quot;beeped-beeped-beeped&amp;quot; and kind of sounded like an alarm clock stuffed in a closet. This alarm literally makes my eardrums tingle and when it sounds, the living room, which my office nook is off of, looks like an NYC dance club (ah, memories) because there is a strobe light that flashes. That&amp;#x27;s kind of fancy, no? You&amp;#x27;d think JD would be saying &amp;quot;Coo-wool&amp;quot; in the middle of the living room, while trying to catch the fireflies of light. He&amp;#x27;s napping. Blissfully napping while the fountain just outside his window gurgles. And I&amp;#x27;m literally sitting here, rolling my eyes. I&amp;#x27;m glad my kid can sleep through a fire drill, not even stirring, yet since we moved in, wakes up every single night (every. single. night) at 3 A.M. And I...regret to confess that I go to him. When I get there he is standing up in his crib and his blanket is on the floor. &amp;quot;Ut-oh, Mama!&amp;quot; he yells and his pudgy hands open and close like Pac-Man mouths. &amp;quot;Night-night time, bud,&amp;quot; I say, plopping his blanket into the crib, turning to leave. &amp;quot;Mmm, no!&amp;quot; he says, and then starts crying this pitiful cry, complete with trembling lips and a confused wrinkled brow that seems to say, &amp;quot;WHY DON&amp;#x27;T YOU LOVE ME, MAMA? IF YOU DID, YOU&amp;#x27;D PICK ME UP.&amp;quot; And I do pick him up and bring him into my room where he immediately falls asleep pressed against my side. I then wake up at around 6 A.M. to JD squealing &amp;quot;Melmo, Mama!&amp;quot; &amp;quot;Elmo comes on at 7, bud&amp;quot; I say, pushing myself out of bed to change his diaper and get his milk and so another day begins... I know what you&amp;#x27;re all going to say. He&amp;#x27;s got to cry it out. Let him cry it out. And part of me is tough enough to do this, but part of me is scared my neighbors are going to hate me and so far they are all so lovely and kind, always saying hello to JD, complimenting his sneakers, telling me he&amp;#x27;s adorable. I don&amp;#x27;t want to piss them off. Last night we were on the balcony and JD was coloring on his easel. I imagined he was drawing the fountain down below. My new neighbor--though I&amp;#x27;ve actually known him since high school--came out onto his balcony. We exchanged hellos over JD&amp;#x27;s squeals and fluent baby talk. &amp;quot;Do you hear him all the time?&amp;quot; I said with a face like a fire cracker was going to go off in my hand. &amp;quot;No, not at all,&amp;quot; he said. &amp;quot;Really? Are you lying?&amp;quot; (Ha!) I said. &amp;quot;You could tell me!&amp;quot; Not sure what I can do, though, I thought. &amp;quot;Seriously,&amp;quot; he said. Cool, then, I thought. OK, now share your stories about your own bed-snatchers and tell me some of your tricks, though I realize they all probably go to the tune of: LET HIM CRY IT OUT."^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.glamour.com/sex-love-life/blogs/storked/2009/06/hello-they-are-currently-testi>