I love my kids, I just hate parenting
I posted recently about all the wacky gifts my baby son received this holiday season: clothes he’ll outgrow in two weeks, toys he won’t be able to use for two months, books he won’t be able to read for two years, and devices that make enough noise to ensure I’ll be insane in two minutes.
But there was one gift he received that stood above all others. But I’ll be damned if I’m ever going to let him use it…
…was a fur-less baby that can’t even talk.
Click below for more – including a picture!
And the post-Xmas hangover begins. (Not an actual hangover, unfortunately. It seems having baby has transformed me into a teetotaler. These days I can’t seem to get past 3 beers without falling asleep on the couch.) More like a “back to work with no reprieve in sight” kind of hangover. I need a nap. YouRead more about In-nap-titude[…]
Santa brought my son a new toy, called a Winkel. I think he likes it. “Sure, pinko, you can have my Winkel. WHEN YOU PRY IT FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS.” Happy Holidays!
My son hit the eleven-week mark yesterday.
The bigger news is that he hit the 13 pound mark a few weeks ago. Upon crossing the 12-pound Rubicon (WHY DID THEY CANCEL “RUBICON”?!), our pediatrician told use that he was perfectly capable of sleeping through the night without needing to be fed. “Twelve hours. I know it sounds tough,” she said, “and it is, but you have to establish the routine.”
Apparently he needs to learn to soothe and sedate himself, even if it means crying himself hoarse, and it won’t be until he gets to college that he’ll learn all the fun ways to do that!
Until then, “Crying It Out” is the way to go…or is it?