All the Horrible Girliness

It's gotten easy to think of The Bug as my monkey. He plays by himself but will come to me every once in awhile for a laugh, a full-sprawl thing of a hug, and a tug of my hair that makes me scream in a way he finds hilarious. He holds on to my arm or leg or shoulder and stomps his legs as if he can't quite control their force yet. If you tell him to dance, he will dance. Especially if there's music.

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Ma tells me what she remembers best about mine and my brother's childhoods is, she would just get the hang of us, and figure us out, and we'd pick that moment to change. This is how it is with The Bug. For two weeks, he slept through the night, except for small whimpers that broke my heart from which he recovered in seconds or minutes. At four or five in the morning he would wake for milk and I would go to his room and nurse him, dazzled by the light creeping in through his vertical blinds. I would remember our first morning together, after he left me, when I showed him the sun and taught him about Earth and all the rotations and morning and night. It's easy to see him as a miracle after I've had some sleep.

Then, another molar started pushing up, and our routines were dashed. Not only can he not sleep for longer than two or three hours at night, now, he's also growing taller and taking shorter naps. I don't know if we have a parenting problem with routine or if he's just been in constant teething or growth spurts since birth.

posted by Samus @ 5:08 PM