One of the truths of life: whenever you think you're getting the hang of parenting, your kids will prove you wrong.
Last night I was up late, washing still more dishes (we did a ton of cooking and baking yesterday), when Andrew called at 11:30, having forgotten that there's a 2-hour time difference between where he is on his business trip and where we are at home. After I hung up and finished cleaning up I read for a few minutes, and was just about to turn out the light when I heard the sound of bare feet coming out of the girls' room. I waited, figuring Snuggler would wander in, but she didn't. Then I heard the sound of the lock turning on the front door.
Yikes! I was out of bed and to the front door in a snap. There was Snuggler, in her pj's, starting to head out into the hallway. "Sweetie, you need to come back inside," I said, gently.
"No, I have to... you don't understand," she muttered.
"It's okay, honey. Let's go back to bed," I replied, putting my arm around her shoulder to guide her back into the apartment. She looked confused, and muttered a bit more, and then turned around and walked back into her room by herself.
Stunned, I wondered what to do. I'd never seen someone sleepwalking before, but this was clearly the real thing. I wondered if an odd interchange I'd had the night before with Snuggler had been due to sleepwalking, too. I pulled out our handy-dandy family medical guide. It said there's no inherent danger in sleepwalking, though people do tend to have accidents from tripping on things, and they should be prevented from leaving the house.
So sometime around midnight I put a pile of stuff in front of the front door, stuff that would make noise if it was moved. And I went to bed and went to sleep.
There were no more incidents. But it still feels weird.