Today marks the day, by whatever method you count (days, weeks, months), that Zane is three months old. Or, as Dwight so aptly put it, the end of the fourth trimester.
Zane left it with a bang, spending the day at the office with Dad and Zane’s office friends along with a surprise visit from Dwight. Dwight reminded me that the bottles have different nipple sizes and sure enough we were due to graduate to Level 2! So off to the mart with a k for a nipple upgrade, a short side-trip to the store for a bottle of French wine for mom’s after opera enjoyment (where the checkout lady said, “get that baby up on this counter so I can see him!”) and then home for a quick glimpse of mom before she left for her show.
Drink a little milk, walk around, got tired, went to sleep, and then woke up twenty minutes later possessed by Linda Blair!
Oh boy, little boy, what a set of lungs.
Its times like these when nothing consoles him that I hear the voice of my sister, or someone, saying “don’t you ever just let him cry it out?” And after a long period without any luck I may try putting him back in his crib and walk away, whistling under my breath, ignoring the rising tide of cries.
It doesn’t work. In fact not only doesn’t it work, but I think he adds on an extra penalty cry period for bad dad behavior.
This morning he is chirpy and squeaky with baby delight. No such thing as a bad moment or unhappy baby, just a smiling playful tike with a surprising sock puppet on one hand and a set of legs that just won’t stop (which is why the sock isn’t on a foot!).
We love you baby Zane.