It's not the baby's fault she's an asshole, I think to myself as we rock and I sing to her. I try the bottle again. She holds it in her mouth for a couple of halfhearted sucks and continues to scream. I rub her back, kiss her forehead, and continue rocking and singing. Her diaper is dry, she's warm. I can't think of any reason she should be crying aside from the fact that she is a tiny little douchecanoe. It's not her fault, I remind myself. Look at who her parents are.
Lorelai has a delightful new habit in which she wails incessantly for no apparent reason, until she wears herself out. She'll pass out, somehow manage to get hiccups, and then wake up to start all over again, upset at the hiccups. It's a riveting drama that only seems to be playing when I'm home alone with her.
Why couldn't she spring this on Matt? I think it might be a hint that I've got a Daddy's Girl. I think I might have finally translated what it means, though, and hopefully peace can descend on our village once more. What I'm pretty sure she's saying when she gets like this is, "Get out of my face, Mom, but I really want to be cuddled." Yesterday and today during these fits, I needed something to do with my hands that didn't involve strangling my daughter or writing a sign to place by her on the street. Free puppy! Not housetrained. So I kissed her forehead and swaddled her. And the crying immediately stopped.
Oh she glared. I was staring at an angry burrito, but it was a burrito stuffed full of hot, satisfying SUBMISSION. So this is my new coping tactic for the crying. Swaddling.
Also, we had our Centering reunion, though only two other ladies ended up showing. It was still fun to see them, their babies, and talk about our births. I'm planning on making playdates with them as our kiddos grow up.