Kiddie Karma

Someone told me that with a newborn you should expect one tough period every day and one tough day every week. I cannot say whether this is entirely accurate because the magic potion of overwhelming adoration and infant smiles mixed with limited sleep puts parents in a constant state of drunken love such that it is nearly impossible to clearly remember those tough times. The good times, however, remain crystal clear.

For 115 minutes on Wednesday, I was the Baby Whisperer #2. (No matter how good, I can never be Baby Whisperer #1 because the title is already taken by our beloved Clay.) I had to dodge a cup of lemonade swarming with bees, push through a blister rubbed raw by the thong part of my sandal, and scare off a stray dog that charged us, but I did it. I had one of those moments where I thought, you know what, I'm rocking this parent thing.

While babysitting Lewis (our friends' son who is 6 weeks younger than Gavin), I managed to simultaneously feed him and Gavin, play and sing songs with them without any crying, and get them to sleep at the same time while out for a walk. It was awesome. And it might have lasted for 116 minutes, but for one small thing: I thought, you know what, I'm rocking this parent thing.

That's when it ended. It didn't end badly, but it ended. Lewis decided he was done with the walk, his cries woke Gavin, Gavin's diaper leaked, and we were still three blocks from the house.