I have composed iterations of this little essay in my head at least a hundred times over the past month, but somehow, I haven’t been able to bring myself to sit down and write it out loud. To make it real. I feel, now, that it is finally time to come clean.
It’s been a perfectly useless Sunday.
On the eve of her twelfth week on earth, Baby G remains clingy and crabby, even in my arms, especially in her Papa’s arms, eternally and maddeningly displeased with most everything she encounters.But especially: car seats, baby slings, swings, bouncy chairs, anything that squeaks or rocks or does not dispense milk.