With a Nod Toward Dylan, The Baby She is A'Changing

OK, so the thing is, Brigid likes to be held. And I like to hold her. So sue me. She's a cuddly, sweet-smelling (most of the time) cutie pie who would much rather be with you than in her crib or playpen. And that's OK, because in a very short amount of time, she's not going to be able to be held and cuddled and played with in the same way that she is now. In a few short years, she's going to be going to school, and will have outside interests and will think boys are cute and Harry Potter is real and Breyer horses are the best thing in life next to the real thing, and Mom and Dad aren't too embarassing (yet!). She'll graduate from saying bah bah bah ayeeeeee ayeeee a-dah a-dah muh muh muh to No! No! No! and I AM coming, (or going to or doing it or whatever you've asked of her). And hopefully, interspersed will be plenty of I love yous (or I wuv yous) to tide you over until the next one comes out of her mouth. And all of this is because last night she wouldn't go to sleep in her crib no matter how many time I tried placing a sleeping Brigid down. She'd wake up, look around like she was in a dream, then realization would replace foggy haze in her eyes and she was up. It's not until we're going to bed for the night, with the Baby B between us, that she surrenders to sleep, because that is how it's supposed to be in her world. Mommy, Baby Brigid and Daddy, in that order, in bed. How dare we try to suggest otherwise. What were we THINKING? So I snuggled next to her as she faded off to sleep and tried to get some sleep myself until the next waking, which, last night, was about two hours later, and two hours after that, and so on until she was up earlier than usual this morning at 8:30.

Introducing cereal and juice has been successful at dinner time but it's not been the amazing experience designed to fill her up and keep her content that you read about. She's happy to eat along with us, opening her mouth at the right moment for the spoon bowl to enter. She does it automatically like she's been doing it for months. But then she's happy to latch onto the boob not long after because THAT's the real deal. And I'm not complaining because to me, it's the real deal, too. But feeding her at the dinner table gives us all something in common, and I think that works.

Margaret isn't feeling well and was coughing like crazy this morning. Her peak flow last night was at 250, which isn't her highest but isn't in the basement, either. However, with her highest and recently consistent attempts being at 280 or 290, then a 250 is a significant drop, one we have to keep an eye on. I expect she'll be back on her inhaler for a while. She had been doing well and was even off it for most of the summer. But then, Patricia has been plagued with coughing and sore throats this week, and I'm on the verge myself. I hope it's just a bug passing through.

Margaret was thrilled yesterday to have had a short lesson on the flute with Mr. Rabideau when she went to see him after school about setting up her first lesson. He showed her how to blow, how to put the instrument together and not clasp down on it too hard as to bend the valves. She is so careful, especially since it's been lovingly lent to her by Michelle. Her first lesson is a week from today. It's not going to be an easy instrument to master, but she's excited and as a result, so are we.