It's not what you think. I'm half an hour into Stranger Than Fiction, and I have to keep pausing the movie. It takes a supreme effort of will and concentration to maintain a silent laugh, and I really don't want to wake The Child with my hearty man laugh.
There's a chance this movie could all go to pot in the next hour, but so far it's one of the funniest I've ever seen. I'll be back later.
It's later. Looooved the movie. The second half wasn't as funny, but it was still so much fun. I'll probably watch it again so I can cry some more.
We had such a good day today. Grace napped like a champ. She laughed and squealed and only squawked once or twice.
And now? Now she's screaming her little heart out for Daddy. She did this last night around the same time, too. I have no idea what's going on. Gas drops, bouncy seat, sling, cuddling, walking, toys... nothing works. It's like she's suddenly two months old again. Last night I finally gave up and gave her some baby Tylenol. I'm not sure if it worked or not; she calmed down, but it might also have been me curling up next to her on the bed and singing loudly in her ear. I hesitate to dose her every time she has a bad night. I read there's some evidence it contributes to asthma if used before one year (though nothing I've found will say how much or how often it has to be, of course), but the pediatrician said not to worry about that. Still.
James was supposed to go to Illinois all this week for work. I knew that was going to happen sooner or later, and I'd just have to learn to be a temporarily single mom and suck it up. I even convinced myself that it would be kind of fun: after the kid went to bed, I wouldn't have to worry about anyone but ME! Awesome!
James emailed me this morning. His boss decided to go instead; there was some stuff down there he wanted to supervise in person. James won't be going anywhere until April. Whew. Because evenings like this one make me so thankful I'm not doing this by myself.
She's finally quiet. Passed out in James arms sucking fiercely at a pacifier. Her favorite place to be (unless she's hungry).
*gag*
I've been keeping up with the walks. My butt is not letting me forget it.
Today I took The Child out in the sling as an experiment. That was a bad idea. Her snowsuit makes her too big to do the kind of carry that's best suited for her, so instead I did the one where she kind of sits on my hip, and the sling supports her weight. Well. First, there is so much snowsuit going on that she kind of just slipped and squished right out the bottom instead of sitting on the seat made by the fabric. She can barely bend enough to see her toes in that thing, let alone stick her bottom out. Second, she doesn't have enough back strength to do it without me half holding her up all the time. I knew that going out the door, but I kind of forgot how heavy *87 pounds gets after a few minutes.
(Hint: it's really, really heave, especially if it's a squirmy 87 pounds)
We only made it four blocks before I turned around. By the time we got to the front door, her head was somewhere between my boob and belly button (instead of above my shoulder), and she was just starting the "UH! UH! UH!" grunts of discomfort. What a trooper. Imagine hanging by your armpits from a strip of fabric while wearing the most ridiculous puffy pink Pooh snowsuit you can imagine. A Pooh snowsuit with ears. While your nose is dangerously close to Mom Armpit. Yeah. She handled it well.
On Saturday James and I walked The Child across the river and went to the library. Grace now has three more hearts clenched firmly in her tiny little hands. The librarians went crazy over her. I think we'll be spending quite a bit of time there now that the weather is improving (by "improving" I mean it's gone from "freezes your breath before it even exits your throat" to "maybe someday I won't walk out the door and flinch at that giant ball of gas glaring at me from out of the strange blue stuff overhead").
Then the bakery. Oh, the bakery. I didn't even know we had a bakery. But we do. Oh, WE DO. I got what I thought was a plain old chocolate-covered doughnut, and James got a giant cookie. My doughnut was actually a cinnamon rolled covered in chocolate frosting. No, it's way better than it sounds. Way better than you can even imagine. Way better than I can even remember, which is why I have to keep going back. To refresh my memory. Want to keep the old brain sharp. I don't know what James's cookie tasted like, but he made embarrassing noises as he ate it, so I'm guessing it was something delicious.
That bakery is within walking distance. It is also cheap. This is bad. This is very bad.
*You know how much I love hyperbole. She doesn't really weigh 87 pounds. 17 at most. But 17 pounds of dead weight feels like 87 pounds after four blocks.
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