Let's make it a habit.
Guess who slept through the night last night? If you guessed me you'd be wrong because naturally I woke up every few hours to glance bleery-eyed at our bedside clock to see what time it was. Then I'd spend a few minutes marveling at the fact that Henry hadn't woken up crying yet. It was a good kind of waking up in the early hours of the morning because I could just curl up under the covers and enjoy feeling warm and tired while falling asleep again. So, to answer the question: Henry slept through the night last night.
Yesterday I decided that since his sleeplessness sort of coincided with my having rearranged his room a few weeks ago, then perhaps that was what was bothering him. So I put everything back where it was, except for the two garbage bags full of clothes he's outgrown. Those stayed in the attic in their nice plastic storage bins. Also still in the attic: the giant pile of clothes that was lurking behind the door to his room, covertly placed there by me so that when I'd open the door I wouldn't actually see the giant pile, therefore it didn't exist. It was a last ditch effort to try to solve the mysterious night-wakings. Boy was I feeling proud of myself this morning.
This evening as I'm getting Henry ready for his bath, we start the nightly struggle known in some households as "brushing your teeth". In our household it's a battle of wills. It usually starts out all right but once Henry decides ten seconds into it that you're just not going fast enough, it's all downhill from there. Usually by the end either Dave or myself (depending on who happened to be lucky enough to trick the other person into wielding the toothbrush) are hopping around in front of him singing Wiggles songs at the top of our lungs, trying to distract him. Despite what you're thinking, it's not pretty. Tonight it was me, Henry, and the toothbrush. Dave was downstairs puttering around, conveniently busy at just the right time. After ~30 seconds Henry had wriggled onto his back and was laying across my lap, wailing, which suited me fine because I could actually see the teeth I was brushing. Since we're playing the guessing game, guess what I saw when I took a good long look in his mouth? The sharpest little point of a canine tooth poking through his gums. He was teething after all. I'm not feeling quite so smug anymore. And lest you feel badly for him re: the wailing during the toothbrushing, the waterworks shut off the second the brush leaves his mouth. We're going to start calling him The Manipulator. Or The Toddler. We haven't decided.