TWO cups of double espresso, and I am ready to go. When I arrive at my daughter’s, she is distressed; the baby is tired; no one slept well. The house is in atypical disarray. I straighten up, calm my grandbaby, make everything feel right. Our routine begins: play with baby M, place her in her sleep sack, turn on the white noise machine, and get ready to give her a bottle. The room is dark. She snuggles up against me - trusts me, completely. I brought the chaos to an end - I THINK. She grabs for the bottle, filled and warmed, AND, the top is loose - the entire bottle spills. On baby, me, the chair, the “magical” pillow.
Baby M is of course now hysterical - soaked and cold, and there are no more bottles readied in the fridge. I need to open a new can of Enfamil; I also need to find some dry clothes in my daughter’s drawer. AND I find a silver lining. After two months of taking care of baby M, I have lost weight - my 115 pound daughter’s cotton sweat pants fit me - THIS made me smile.
Go through entire procedure again, and I sit down on the rocker with her, close the blinds, and the all important bottle that she needs to drink before her morning nap holds no interest; she drops right off to sleep.
Binky in. I'm certain that the day will now continue to be a calamity. I put her in her crib - she SCREAMS, but I need to leave the room. I need to keep something in her routine constant - the morning nap in the crib.
I hold my breath for a few minutes; look at the monitor, and she is solidly out. She sleeps a restful 1.5 hours. Back on schedule! She gets up, cheery, as if nothing happened, so my only concern is:
SHOULD I TELL MY DAUGHTER ABOUT OUR MORNING?