At 8 days old, Kate already shows an uncanny sense of comic timing.
Last night, as she started into a rock-star, feed-me, burping, hiccupping, wide-awake and wild phase, I picked her up to be face to face with me to talk and sing to her (she loves this). Just as I got her settled, she let out a huge burp.
“Goodness” I said. “Got anything else in there?” Just as the words were out of my mouth, I realized that this is the point in every parenting movie where the baby then spits up all over Mom. And what does Kate then do? Not missing a beat, she spits up all over both of us. Timing.
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Kate’s crazy phase lasted most of the night last night (3-7am) and wore everyone out. I was okay until about 5:30am, when my incision point started to ache and sting — at this point I woke up Paul to take over. The long and short of it is that Kate kicked all of our butts. Earlier this afternoon, Paul came in to watch her for a few minutes. He holds her in his arms and says to her, “Wow, little one. You’ve brought us all to our knees. Mommy is exhausted, Daddy is falling asleep sitting up, and Granna is tired, too. What do you think about all that?” As if on queue, Kate bears down and grunts out a gigantic gorpul (our word for the sound that signals a diaper has been dirtied.) Timing, timing, timing.
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