She wouldn’t stop fussing. The second you would stop the pacingswingingmovement, the whine would start back up again.
Diaper on too tight?
Stuffed up nose from her never-ending cold?
Nope. Raging like a mini-teenager, nothing soothed her.
Stripped screws, bent nails, split boards- all easier to fix than a crying baby that can’t show you what’s wrong.
She rubs her eyes- once. Then again.
Overtired- but fighting sleep with every fiber of her being. Battling against her drooping eyelids.
Finally (FINALLY), she falls asleep in my lap in the rocking chair, and I don’t dare move a muscle, or even breathe too deeply in case I would wake her. I offer up a little prayer that the squeaky chair isn’t too loud and that a 30 minute nap will bring back my happy baby instead of her miserable twin.
But within minutes? Just like that?
The last hour is forgotten as I study the line of her cheeks, the fluttering of her lashes and the crease in her elbows. And suddenly I don’t mind so much having to deal with the miserable baby because I also get the opportunity to watch the happy baby sleep.