We have (almost) solved the dilemma of putting Baby Boy to sleep without tears on his part or ours. So naturally, Baby Girl decides to step it up.
Someone has to fill those slippers, right?
She wakes up crying for the third time since I put her down, thoroughly unhappy with this new teething process that is going on. She does NOT want to lay back down in her crib...no binky will soothe her...when offered a bottle she writhes and screeches in disgust as if I just offered her rat poisen.
Fiiiiiiiiiine.
I will pick you up and transport you to your preferred mattress, princess.
Once ensconced in between Jack and I, she snuggles her little body in, turns her unblinking and suddenly calm eyes on me, and holds up her hands.
My bottle, peasant.
Yes, your majesty. Right away, your majesty.
Now the same rat poison offered five minutes and twenty feet ago is suddenly gourmet baby nirvana. Three sucks later, the bottle lilts drunkenly and she turns her self satisfied little face into my neck and breathes deep. Her belly is full, her world is safe, and there is no night time magic more powerful than Mama's bed.
Sleep tight, my princess.
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