He attacks, under cover of darkness.
He is ruthless…and toothless.
He is a screaming, flailing, drooling, seventeen-pound TYRANT.
And, sadly, he’s my “kin.”
My grandson has been terrorizing his parents for four months.
And I’ve watched my Darling DIL stumble down the stairs, weak and hollow-eyed, after a night of hourly interruptions that include (but are not limited to)
feeding, rocking, walking, burping, changing, temperature-taking,
Tylenol, DEFCON 5 screaming, Gripe Water, prayers, tears,
and a few stolen moments of half-sleep for all parties concerned.
PEOPLE, TEACHING A BABY TO SLEEP IS NOT FOR SISSIES! Continue reading