Well. It's been a fussy day at this house. One of those days when I have to concentrate hard and think about being in the RE's office, or undergoing the IVF retrieval or transfer, or all the times I cried after getting my period, and remember how much I wanted this very beloved, adorable, fussyfussyfussyfussy girl in my arms.
She's not normally like this (and right now she's "sleeping" - as in, resting her eyes until he takes his finger out of her mouth and she starts crying again - with her dad, giving me a blessed few moments to myself). So maybe my tolerance level for fussiness is not as high as others' might be. We did have a good morning; we went out (woohoo! out of the house!) and got her photo taken with Santa which, if I might say so myself, is freaking ADORABLE. We did a few other errands. And then we got home, and...
F-U-S-S-Y. For no reason whatsoever. Hungry? No. Dirty diaper? No. Gas? Maybe, but who can tell? Tired? Probably, but you can't force sleep on people. (Although you can close your eyes and try to will people into sleep, but I have found this method unsuccessful so far.)
She's a pretty easy baby in the grand scheme of things, but even "easy" babies are a lot of work.
I feel the need to include all the standard disclaimers: I love her, she's worth every second of frustration, I wouldn't trade it for the world...but, let's face it. Fussy babies are no fun. Sometimes, I simply remind myself: today is just one day. Tomorrow is another day.
Parenting advice from Scarlett O'Hara. Might not be the best idea.