My little guilt-tripper

It seems that my daughter is learning the fine art of subterfuge.
At the moment her tactics lack refinement, but I can tell she's getting the idea and have no doubt she will soon be mastering the finer points of parental manipulation.

Exhibit A: Waking up.
She screams at night these last few days. (HA! say all you who have had insomniac babies. 'Bout time you Lodwigs got your comeupin's. Fine.) But she screams and scream incessantly for 45 minutes. I finally give in go to her and she'll gaze up at me with dry eyes and say, "Daddy. Book."

Exhibit B: "Falling down"
Last night I was holding her, and she wanted to play with the thermostat. (Being a father I now understand the joy of refusing the thermostat to my progeny.) I put her down and she whined. Getting no response, she decided to "fall down" and started crying.

Exhibit C: My favorite
Our dog has tail that is somewhere between a riding crop and a baseball bat. Several times a day Anya gets a rosy welt across her forehead, falls to her butt and proceeds to cry until picked up. The other day she wasn't getting the attention she felt she deserved. She walked over to the dog, grabbed her tail with both hands, whacked the tail with her head and began to cry.

Nice try kid.