I just finished an unexpected 45-minute soothing of Julia, in four parts. (Two attempts to sneak out were foiled by my creaky right knee, which alerted her to my exit; the third attempt succeeded but she woke up anyhow.) I don't know what, precisely, was wrong, but she heartbreakingly asked, when I went in the first time, "Daddy home? Mama home? Nonna here?" Clearly, she's still worried about just who is here at any given point in time. She eventually (seems to have) succumbed to sleep, at which point I did my own before-sleep things which I had planned to do 90 minutes ago.
This little episode, and the numerous immediate demands which Genevieve places on Shannon and me, reminds me of a hard-learned (but nonetheless forgotten) lesson from Julia's newborn days: If you have to do it, do it as soon as you can, because you might not get another chance today. This works equally well for the necessities like sleeping, eating, showering, working out, or changing clothes as for the luxuries, like trying to figure out just where you had to leave off reading that newspaper article.