We are currently at the mid-point in the morning, and this morning has involved almost the entire spectrum of Baby's moods and feelings. The morning kicked off with some good, old-fashioned Floor Time during which Baby enjoyed rolling, scooching, and inching . . . until he didn't. Then, Baby and I made ourselves half-way presentable for the outside world and headed out to the corner coffee shop. Baby was calm and happy. He sucked his thumb while he carefully studied everyone he saw.
We came home. I asked a woman who had just lit her cigarette in the hallway on the ground floor to wait to do that until she gets outside next time. (How did that go over? Well . . . hmmm . . . not great. But before she could tell me what she really thought about my request, I got on the elevator up to our apartment. Unfriendly Neighbor Crisis averted.)
Back in the comfort of our apartment, Baby enjoyed some pureed squash for breakfast. He even smiled while he was eating it, which is his rarest (and therefore highest) form of praise for solid food. He drank three drops of juice, which is par for the course. He seemed sleepy, so we started the morning nap ritual. He fell asleep while I was nursing him, which is also par for the course.
Then he fussed and seemed to be protesting the nap when I left the room. I tried to let him soothe himself until his cry became a serious, all-out, get-in-here-momma-right-NOW-cry. Baby kept crying as I held him. He was dealing with what has become a not infrequent predicament. (I do not want to completely embarrass my almost eight-month old, so I will just note that this predicament started soon after solid foods, I tend to blame oatmeal and/or bananas and/or cooked carrots, and I have started giving him little bottles of diluted prune juice as an antidote.) After some major cuddling and a little back rub, he calmed down and his predicament had passed. (Try not to judge me for making poop puns... this is a mommy blog, not an issue of Harper's.)
Five minutes later, Baby was changed and playing his favorite game as if nothing had happened. He put a washcloth over his face while I repeated variations of, "Oh hey... where's my baby? Anyone seen [Baby]?!?" He squirmed and kicked with delight until he pulled the washcloth off of his face in triumph. And I mean triumph.
Soon, Baby and I were back in the living room where he decided he would, in fact, love some prune juice, "thankyouverymuch, Momma," and he drank an entire ounce of the good stuff. Then I read Corduroy while he ate the pages.
When it was time to try the morning nap again, I placed Baby in his crib with his monkey. For the next fifteen minutes, I could hear Baby telling monkey all sorts of wild sounding things. Now, all is quiet. Baby sleeps, and I feel like we have lived ten days in four hours.