He cried for about ten minutes, warbled his new raptor song a few more and then was out. He has not been swaddled since, and barring any strange inclinations or incarcerations he probably never will. I told my friend Jen that our bedtime ritual consists of changing him, fondling a book and plopping him in bed to fall asleep and she broke up with me. We made up over spit-up stories and a little breastfeeding party in the middle of the mall.
Before you throw things at me for getting out of any real parenting by having the easiest kid in the universe, let me just say we screamed a blue streak much of the way home from Seattle last night. Nothing like a crying jag in a small car so loud and long he's still hoarse. I fed him. I cleaned him. I swore a little and at one point shifted the beleaguered Hondamobile so hard I took a little core sample out of my arm with the straw sticking out of my drink holder. Just another one of those moments I'm so glad there's no hidden camera. Too bad there's that whole omniscient God thing, but at least He's also infinitely prepared for my goofiness.
I've been a little teary lately. Simon had to go to the cardiologist (I know, it's crazy, buy what can I do- he's my dog), my house still feels un-home to me, and I haven't been working out enough to stay happy.
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