I glanced over at Barrett, all tuckered out and finally napping, and noticed something. Something to do with his right hand. I remember making a hand motion like that, years ago, when drinking was for fun and not to forget a long day of raising children. I'm kidding about that last part, of course. Unless you have kids too, then you know I'm not! And when can we hang out?
We've hit that cranky seven-weeks-old stretch, the calm before the eight-weeks-old stretch of diminished tummy troubles and longer sleeping stretches. That feisty week where the baby has one goal - make you appreciate every moment he's not trying to derail your mental health. The hubs and I are letting it ride and know that this too will pass. Barrett's only really putting on the show in the evenings (they don't call it the "Witching Hour" for nothing) and I'm usually upstairs giving Britton her bath and reading stories, so I don't hear much of the carrying on.
But when I do get back downstairs, and the hubs is deaf in one ear from Barrett's wailing, I remember how I'll take Barrett's one-hour temper tantrum over some hours-long stories I've heard. Then comes 9:00 pm, and he clams it up and gets back to sleeping.
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