There are days where mothering my child is like a Hallmark movie come true, complete with perfect, smiling, giggly baby who never gets cranky or fussy or fretful.
Then, there are days like today. Nothing I could do made her happy for very long, and she’s discovering that she can scaaaarrrrrreeeeeeeeeeem that high-pitched screech of woe that sounds much closer in tone to the vocal angst of a two-year-old who isn’t getting her way. She didn’t want to be put down, but she didn’t want to be held. She didn’t want to eat, but wanted to nurse for loooooong periods of time — and when we do that, that means a whole lot of sitting around doing nothing for me.
At least I got to catch up on the latest “Rock of Love II” episode.
And if I tried to put her in her crib for a MUCH NEEDED afternoon nap? Heaven Almighty, you would have thought from the sounds of her dismay that I placed her in a tiny cage littered with rusty razorblades and ill-tempered raccoon.
It’s possible that perhaps new teeth are going to start making an appearance, but it’s much more probable that my sweet angel baby of late has been suddenly switched with a sinister tantrum-throwing twin.
