I do wonder if Fynn will some day sit across from a therapist and uncover hidden memories of being left alone. In a closet. With the door pulled shut.
Will she ever recall images of her parents high-fiving over their schemes to find the darkest recesses of their home and sprawl her out? Has she seen the desperate glee as we've plotted an end to her days of napping only in a carrier or someone's arms?
Or, as I sometimes suspect, will she someday drive us to weekly therapy sessions, where her father and I will try to figure out how we went from being two people who could successfully sleep train an infant for nights and naps in one day (bless you, Mad-A-Girl!) to people who have to bring Grandma up to the house to help with Fynn so we can get things done?
Only time will tell. For now, I'd better get all that pre-cleaning day laundry put away so I have time to deal with everything else tomorrow when Grandma's here.