No Sleep Til Bedtime

It's nearly two o'clock in the morning. Tash is crashed out with Iola spread-eagled across her chest, and I'm sitting here with a glass of wine that I'm pretty keen to finish before I collapse in a dead heap and sleep the clock 'round.
I love Iola to pieces. She's without a doubt the best thing that's ever happened to me, bar none. But I gotta tell ya, sometimes it's hard work.
She's usually pretty good when it comes to kipping out at a relatively civilised hour, but tonight she just wanted to party. I've spent the last couple of hours singing to her, which was supposed to put her to sleep, but instead seemed to spark this little flame in her eyes that said 'put another coin in the jukebox, baby.'
So tomorrow morning (later this morning?) she'll open her eyes and shoulder up to her usual stool at the NPR Milkbar; I'll wake up at the sound of her voice, she'll go back to sleep for a few hours, and I'll stay up and try to be functional.
Rock on Iola.