I don't know why they're so tired. I sleep fine, as long as someone nurses me constantly after dark and puts my binky back in my mouth after each of the 8,000 times I spit it out at night.
Making up from a sleep-deprivation-induced marital skirmish last week, this exchange took place as we read our respective books (his on statistics, mine on hiking - neither of which we practice) and attempted to make up (MULTITASKING!) before going to sleep.
SLB: (grudgingly) I love you, you know.
Me: (pain in the assishily) Say it all romantic. Say it like Shakespeare.
SLB: (ghoulishly) WOOOooooOOOOooooOOOOOO! I looooooove YOOOOOUUUUUUU...
At which point we both laughed, because Shakespeare is dead and the only way he can say anything, even romantic stuff, is like a ghost. Ha! Silly dead ghost bard making us stop hating each other!
And that, my friends, is why I can't stay mad at this face for long.
"I'm sorry for all the times I was always wrong and you never, ever were wrong. Never. Not once. Have some flowers"
A couple of weeks ago I posted a link to a wonderful onesie to Facebook with the chastening plea that "Every minute you're not buying this for Maddsy is a minute in which you're proving that you're not really my friend." Or something like that. I'm not looking up the actual line because 1) I'm lazy, 2) I'm not a journalist, and 3) Shut up. This is just a blog, so why don't you take your standards and shove them right quick. RIGHT GODDAMN QUICK.
Anyway, I posted this inexpertly quoted message, and within a few days Miss Madeline received this expertly modeled gift in the mail.
I have yet to find out who sent it, which is very exciting for me and deeply disturbing for SLB. I'm assuming that the generous angel who sent this onesie reads this blog, or at least he or she will read it when I promote it on Facebook, and so I send him or her sincere thanks for his or her thoughtfulness and quick response to greedy demands. We'll go far, my anonymous benefactor and I.
And, yes, for those who ask tongue-in-cheekily, Madeline Mae IS just about the happiest baby in the world. We're still exhausted by the nighttime wake-ups, but the daytimes are all about snuggles and smiles and kisses and uncoordinated wiggling on everyone's part.
Even the paparazzi likes to get in on the wiggly action during photo shoots.
She's totally going to sell that to OK! for thousands...
...or just blast through the photographer/subject divide for some sisterly bonding.
"Livy, get out of my light!"
Clearly adoration like this is worth compromising a few key shots.
Livy had a rough day today and an especially difficult evening. She's sick and running a low-grade fever that just serves to damper any fun she can work up the energy to seek. Her nap was ruined by a sweaty, febrile nightmare. She accidentally misjudged her depth when eating a carrot at dinner and bit her finger, which was so painful and upsetting that it caused her to throw up her last bite. Dinner ended with her curled up under a blanket on the couch, weeping and clutching an ice pack to her finger and a lovey to her chest.
It was tragic. My heart ached for her sick, sad, tired sorrow, and I figured we were headed to an early bedtime. It's hard to come back after a few hours that challenging when you're 3 1/2 and sick, and I wouldn't have begrudged her an evening of limp snuggles on the couch.
Then, weakly and sadly, she asked if she could sit on my lap and watch a video on the computer. I said yes, cuddled her close, brought up YouTube, and asked her what she wanted to watch. I thought it might be The Sweptaways' "Oh My Darlin' Clementine," or maybe Mike Doughty's "Madeline and Nine," but she shocked and delighted me with her completely badass request.
Can you even begin to guess what she asked for, friends, after months of not watching it? Do you know which video called out to her from the wide breadth of her media consumption? Do you know what she said that made me laugh out loud with surprised delight and pride? DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE SAID?
"Rocky." She said "Rocky," and I fell in love anew with my resilient little warrior beast child. So we snuggled, and I stroked her hair while we were reborn with Rocky's every triumphant step.
Good on ya, Rock. Good on ya, Liv. Gonna fly, indeed.
