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Twisting his mom around his little finger

At first we thought it was just the holidays. You know. Nonexistent schedule, tons of people, too much time in the car, going to bed too late. "It’s the holidays," we told ourselves. "Things will go back to normal."

Then we thought it was a little body that can't stop moving, but doesn't actually go anywhere. That must be frustrating, right? To work really really hard to reach the toy just out of your grasp, only to scoot yourself backwards across the floor? I don’t know about you, but that would definitely putme in a sour mood.


We thought it might be teeth. He got his two bottom teeth at three and a half months and we haven’t seen another since. We thought he could be sick. Maybe he wasn’t getting enough to eat? Was he already bored with his new toys? Did his tummy hurt? Was it too cold in his room? Maybe he really did miss his grandparents, like my mother insisted was the case. (Dear Mom: WHATEVER.)

Phillip and I have come to the only reasonable conclusion for our sudden disappearance of our baby’s sunny disposition, which is: THAT’S JUST THE WAY IT IS.

Only a few hours after Jackson was born, my nurse informed me that I was going to have a happy mellow baby.

"How do you know?" I asked. Except it came out like "mmmrrrppgggg" because I hadn’t slept in two days.

"Oh, I can tell," she assured me. And to prove her point, the baby next door started howling that very instant and kept it up all night long. Phillip and I gazed lovingly at our serene and peaceful baby, and patted ourselves on the back for getting to take this one home instead of the shrieky one in the next room.

And, for the most part, Jackson is a Perfect Angel Baby. I have not spent one single night holding a wailing inconsolable child for hours, hoping for either sweet blessed sleep or a cartoon anvil to fall on my head. He will sit on the floor and play with a cardboard box or a plastic cup until I’m done unloading the dishwasher (or, ahem, reading blogs). He loves having his diaper changed. He doesn’t mind who’s holding him. We have yet to give him a pureed vegetable he won’t eat. Oh, he’ll fuss or whimper or protest, but he’s easily placated with a change of scenery or something to chew on or, if all else fails, the ABC song. The ABC song is magic, people.

But we’ve had a string of three or four days now when SOMEONE is CRABBY. Cranky! Fussy! Annoyed! Willful! Protesting the grave injustice that is being changed into one’s pajamas! How DARE I unsnap that onesie!

We have no idea what is up with this kid. None at all. People are all, “Um, this is fussy? Are you kidding? What are you guys- completely spoiled rotten by your perfect angel cannot-possibly-be-a-real-live baby?” And the answer is: YES WE ARE. AND WE LIKE IT THAT WAY.

I have to admit, we are not up all night with a howling baby. He’s still eating and playing and doing his normal baby things- he just doesn’t seem very happy about it. He is getting downright demanding! I know! Today I wouldn't give him the remote control (the remote control is mytoy, and I prefer my toys slobber-free, thankyouverymuch) and from the look on his face you'd think I'd denied him FOOD AND SHELTER. What a MEAN MOMMY! And then he could not BELIEVE I put him on the floor to play. The floor! It's boring down there! And dinner, my GOODNESS. Sweet potatoes? AGAIN? I must be kidding him.

I really wish I knew how to make him happy. What do I give him? How can I help him? Is it just a stage? TELL ME IT’S JUST A STAGE. I mean, pretty soon he's going to start informing me he'd like his peas medium-rare and his onesies ironed on alternate Tuesdays.


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