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Their Bad Mother

FOUR TIMES IN ONE NIGHT. This is not (sadly) what it sounds like. What it is – four times BUSTING OUT OF SWADDLE. Or rather, as I discovered in the dark hours of the dawn this morning, wriggling out of swaddle. The night actually started out really well. Baby went down at her usual hour…

My Baby rocks. I know, I’m supposed to say that (or something like it), ’cause I’m her mother, but seriously. She. Rocks. We went to our first ‘activity’ today, a baby-toddler drop-in program at a nearby library, which is basically just like a support group for babies (who tend not to have a tremendous amount…

The Husband was a total prince this morning – as he always is, but especially so whenever schedule and circumstance allow him to linger around home at high-baby-traffic times – and took over breakfast duty with Baby so as to allow me to steal some much-needed sleep. He brought her downstairs, changed her, played with…

Further to yesterday’s post… 1) Why Notorious C.O.W.? Because, hell, look at him. Just one big rockin’ head. He’s clearly the heavy of the bunch. And because Notorious P.I.G. would just have been too obvious, you know? 2) Yes, that is a FISHER-PRICE infant-toddler rocker that the barnyard posse hangs out on and that Baby…

Baby’s got a new best friend. Ok, well, she’s got a lot of best friends, all in a rotating cycle of preference. The top dog best friend of the moment, however, is Whoozit. Whoozit is like this reject from the Muppet factory. Or Animal’s alien cousin from the planet Zork. Or how I would have…

So she bust out of the swaddle twice last night. I wasn’t going to start the blog this way again, but couldn’t help myself. It’s driving me crazy. I’ve seriously got to let this issue go. ‘Cause if I was following this blog, I’d be like, “dude, set your baby free or get over it.”…

Day 77… Night before last, swaddle intact. Last night, busted out once. I think that the score is just about even. Ha. Who am I kidding? I lost the battle of wills with my daughter about 10 seconds after she was born. But I soldier on, as I must. She at least has to THINK…

She bust out of her swaddle three times last night. THREE. And not just any ordinary swaddle – we’re talking Miracle Blanket swaddle, which is to say, full-on baby straightjacket. She’s done this before – the Husband swears that she can dislocate her shoulders, a la Houdini, to get out – but three times is…
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