In Which I Do Not Exaggerate At All

This is Olivia Lee.

This is how she woke up after an extraordinary night of terrors and traumas.  Ain't she sweet?  Didn't she wake up adorable?  I sure thought so, and so I took a couple of pictures to commemorate her 180 degree turn around in demeanor and her nearly 180 degree physical turn.

Last night as she fought her way into sleep, she developed a BRAND! NEW! cry with 40% more volume for the same low price.  And, as a gift with purchase, she debuted a new skill in crying, too.  My baby can now screech just like a band saw!  She must have been working on this in private when I wasn't listening or looking because she seemed very practiced at it last night.  It was a flawless performance.  Her face contorted into a grotesque, red, sweaty mask as she threatened the structural integrity of all four of our eardrums with the continual whine of her band saw scream.  And the dedication and endurance she demonstrated through her lengthy fit truly deserves to be commended.  I salute you, Olivia Lee.  Well done.  My ears are still ringing.

After she dropped off to sleep I figured I was in the clear for the night in terms of Mom-duty because she generally sleeps well and long after a late-night tantrum.  Sadly, this was not to be.  She awoke crying for formula around 3:00 and did a champion's job of pounding 8 ounces of the stuff while remaining mostly asleep.  As I burped her and snuggled her quietly in the still darkness, she unleased a torrent of spit up straight into the hood of my sweatshirt.  It was as if there were a target at the bottom of the basin of the hood and she had shown up Robin Hood's marksmanship with astounding precision.  It was nearly ladylike in its discretion and demureness.  I was impressed and very grateful to not have to wake her and change her into new jammies since she was spotless and entirely vomit-free herself.

I, on the other hand, was forced to take off my puke-filled sweatshirt when she was on the changing table and managed to dump the entire contents of the hood (lately the entire contents of my baby) onto my neck.  It was warm.  It was wet.  It smelled of goat cheese.  I'll say no more.  I swiped at myself with a cold baby wipe and proceeded to change Livy without incident until I dropped her old diaper into the bin.  In the amount of time it took me to drop the old diaper and grab a new one - what?  3 seconds? - she peed so violently and so abundantly that when I put my hand on the changing pad it made an audible splash.  I actually heard the splash before my mind registered the warmth, moisture, and smell.  Olivia, fully awake now, received a full, cold wipe-down, new jammies, and a new sleepsack.  Exhausted, I dumped her completely alert in her crib and staggered back to bed.

And so I was so pleased to find this waiting for me this morning!  What a redemption from the night before!  What bliss to wipe the slate clean and begin anew with a warm smile to greet me!

Livy was in prime form to have a great morning, and I was full of hope and optimism as I unzipped her sleepsack to pull her out and begin the day.  What did I find in that sack, friends?  What did I find?  What does the law of bad-things-in-threes demand that I find?  A diaper more suited to be used as a colander filled with pea-green poop.

Kitty had the right idea.  When I first saw her I figured that she had been the victim of Livy's brutal screaming fit.  Now I know that she was trying to save herself from what that baby later had in store.  There was no saving her, and there was no saving me.  And as for Livy's hat trick, I celebrated her achievement in the only way appropriate to the occasion.

Well done, little biscuit.  Bravo.