Last night, 20hrs: Feeling proudproudproud when the baby eats two servings of (home made, not from a jar, not even pureed) pumpkin risotto. She eats my vegetables, after all!
Last night, 2.20hrs: Feeling decidedly un-proud, sitting up in bed, holding an exhausted, whimpering baby. She has spent the past three hours cycling between quick naps and hysterical screeching, the likes of which we have not heard from her before. Not when she took a surprise dip in a cold ocean, not when she had shots in both legs, not even when she fell flat on her back from the high chair. High-pitched, vibrating tongue, purple faced screaming, and nothing, but nothing, would calm her down.
We tried rocking, we tried singing, we tried water, we tried a banana, we even brought back the pacifier she has been sleeping without. Nothing. The only thing that calmed her down was being in the bed between us, weighed down by adult arms. So that’s how we “slept”, until it was time to wake her to go to daycare. She protested for a second, but then settled in for a big bowl of porridge, all smiles and pointy fingers.
Babies, man. Babies.