There is a reason baby-rearing is primarily the dominion of the young. It's exhausting! It's worse when you fail to sleep until three in the morning, as I did last night. I had no excuse to have skipped falling asleep; my brain just woke up and wouldn't let me go. So when the grandbaby came over for a full day, with just me to care for her, I was challenged to the very edge of my tired, old body. She's a perfect child, but she does not like to be put down. Put her on her back, and she shrieks like you have ripped her feet off (until she figures out you are just ridding her of a poopy diaper, then she gets cheerful for a few moments.)
I'm enjoying her tiny babyhood, but I recognize how much easier it will be on me when she can sit up unassisted, reach for toys that gain and keep her interest, and learn a few ways to communicate other than crying. A month from now, I will look back and think the early infancy went by in a flash. The self-governing stage seems light years away for now.
We ended the evening (after the baby went home) playing board games with T and A next door, and then started watching Raising Arizona when I started to wear out. The babies in that movie, the "Arizona Quints," are all about six or seven months old. They seem enormous compared to my grandbaby. It doesn't seem possible that she will be such a bruiser like those kids, by Christmas or New Year's. She is so dainty and cute now.
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