Monday, July 7, 2014

If I kept a sleep training journal for my dear, grumpy girl, I think it would read something like the first Jurassic Park book: a brief period of monster taming, followed by an even briefer period of presumed success lulling the tamer into a sense of false confidence, which is thereafter succinctly abolished by a terror greater than ever before. The other day I was contemplating what wonders I might accomplish (wonders like cookies and grown up TV) when I don't find it necessary to nap every day, and then Ammi, horticulturalist extraordinaire, decided to nip that fantasy right in the bud. Two nights this week, she and we have welcomed every hour of the night with open eyes, and her days are spent languishing in relative misery. We are assuming the problem is her first year molars. This knowledge has made it no less painful for any of us, though it does so soften the heart to see your baby inconsolable.

The teething situation, coupled with recent visitors (Jean and Bonnie) and visits (Chicago and Cincinnati), means I'm one event behind on pictures. I have patriotic pictures from two days ago, and I have Shedd Aquarium pictures from several weeks ago.