Baby Log 4:01am: I am not quite ready to start the day, but I AM ready to get out of this lonely hellhole Beard and Incubator call a crib. I gently let Incubator know her (precious) Mini Me is ready for morning snuggles by quietly screaming and banging my head on the crib slats. She bolts upright, staggers over to pick me up and together we return to Beard and Incubator’s fluffy bed. In a lucky turn of events, Wombmate is already there. Loneliness solved!
Baby Log 4:21am: I am still not quite ready to start the day, but I would prefer to see the way the early morning shadows look from Incubator’s left side instead of the right, where I’m nuzzled. I (quietly) yank on her hair and head-butt her until she repositions me. The view is nice, but lacking. I (adorably) let her know I’d like to move back to the right side by clamping down on her earlobe with my brand new teeth. She yells something I can’t understand, but I’m sure it’s along the lines of, “What a great morning to be alive!”
Baby Log 4:37am: I am still not quite ready to start the day, but I do want to hold Wombmate’s hand. Incubator seems tired (I’m not sure why. She’s gotten a full 3 hours tonight!), so I decide to let her sleep. The quickest way to Wombmate is as the crow flies, so I wriggle directly across Incubator’s face. Halfway through my journey, I get tired and stop for a quick rest over Incubator’s nose. She jerks awake, sputters something about not being able to breath and curtly says, “I give up. We’re awake.” She’s not a morning person like Wombmate and me which is EXACTLY why I let her sleep in until 4:37!
Baby Log 5:15am: Incubator puts me in my bouncy seat to play while she showers. Not thrilled with the forced isolation, I alternate between half-hearted bats at my mobile and crying. I’m not sure why her shower is taking so long (3 minutes and counting!), but I’m ravenous and need to eat RIGHT.THE.HELL.NOW. Though she turns the water off, Incubator doesn’t speed up and continues to ignore my pleas for food while she (selfishly) towels off. I give up and try Beard instead.
Baby Log 5:41am: Beard, a sucker for my adorable smiles, gives me a warm bottle, but after a few sips, I realize I’m not really hungry after all. As I contemplate how to get Portly Pug’s attention, Wombmate begins frantically crying. I’m not sure why she’s so unhappy, but something terrible must be happening. We better join forces to get Beard and Incubator’s attention. In solidarity, I begin thrashing my arms and wailing as loud as I possibly can. I am clearly dying, but no one seems concerned. I cry for an entire 7 seconds before Beard picks me. I forgive him for his inadequate sense of urgency when he starts dancing with me. I LOVE to dance, especially with Beard.
Baby Log 6:12am: I’m FAMISHED. I’m not sure why Beard made me wait so long, but he offers me another bottle, which I happily take. I smile, coo and giggle to show my appreciation. Incubator takes a picture.
Baby Log 6:31am: Incubator hugs me, and I show her my newly learned kissing skills by licking her chin. She laughs, I laugh, Beard laughs, we all laugh! Incubator has Beard take a picture.
Baby Log 6:43am: Incubator and I pick a stylish pink and black number with a bejeweled crown on it – perfect for a Twincess! As we walk down the hallway, I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror, and let me tell you, I am adorable with a capital A! I cannot get enough of looking at my cherubian face. I’m immediately dazzled by my precious smile, button nose and flaxen hair. I turn my head this way and that and confirm – yep – I’m gorgeous from all angles. We move past the mirror way too soon, but the memory of my beauty stays with me as I chortle, wink and giggle at Beard. He’s so lucky to have such a pretty daughter! Wombmate is cute too, I suppose, but sadly (for her) we’re not identical.
Baby Log 7:20am: Wombmate and I arrive at daycare. While she busies herself licking snot off of some crying boy’s face, I crawl to the nearest mirror and continue practicing my smile. Incubator snaps a picture.
Baby Log 12:25pm: Beard and Incubator are here for a lunch visit! I’m so excited, I can barely stand it and fling my entire body at Beard as he leans down to pick me up. For some reason, he is thrown off balance and nearly topples over. Just one of the hazards of being a parent, I guess. After he recovers, Beard walks me around the room describing all the pictures and toys he sees. Now, between you and me, I’ve seen this room and all of its contents about 87 times this morning alone, but he seems to get a kick out of practicing his annunciation skills, so I smile and giggle at everything. Yes, Beard, that is a baaaaall.
Baby Log 4:21pm: Time to go home! While Incubator packs our diaper bag, a bookshelf in the corner catches my eye. Upon investigation, I realize the corner is broken and looks extra sharp. My investigative detective skills kick in, and I’m compelled to touch the corner with my face, feet, hands and possibly head, if I can reach that high.
Baby Log 4:22pm: Yep! I am right, it’s pointy and sharp and can probably blind me in an instant. Just as I’m about to test the stabiness with my ear, Beard swoops in and picks me up. My efforts are thwarted for today, but I’ll revisit the sharp corner first thing in the morning.
Baby Log 5:27pm: It’s dinnertime, and Wombmate and I are excited to feed ourselves! Incubator carefully scoops something green and lumpy into my favorite pink spoon, helps me hold it (spoons are tricky!) and snaps a picture while I shove the ladle into my ear, over my shoulder and finally into my mouth. PEAS. FOILED AGAIN. Why would anyone do this to themselves?! I shudder and gag, but gamely try another bite before I’m forced to puke everywhere. I’ll hold out for blackberries. In the meantime, the vomit is smelly, squishy and makes a fun “splat” sound when I smack my hands in it, sending arcs of green bile into the air like some kind of rainbow painting Baby Picasso!
Baby Log 6:32pm: Incubator tucks me into a carrier and takes me into the kitchen with her. As she cooks dinner, I cheer her on by chanting her favorite thing to hear, “mama, mama, mama.” What can I say? I’m a giver. I begin to get a bit restless, so despite being tone deaf, Incubator sings to me. Bless her heart, what she lacks in style, she makes up for in exuberance and desperation.
Baby Log 7:40pm: My eyes feel heavy and I begin to yawn, so Incubator (mistakenly) thinks I’m ready to lie down for the evening. I’m not sure why she insists I try to go to sleep when there are HOURS of fun left in the day. She lays me down in my crib and begins rubbing my back while playing a soothing cd of rainfall noises. Naturally, I hate it. What kind of monster would do this to a defenseless baby?!
Baby Log 8:17pm: Despite feeling (a teeny) bit sleepy, I power through the fatigue and manage to steadily bleat a few despondent cries, reminding Beard and Incubator how mean they are, in case they forgot.
Baby Log 8:39pm: I can no longer resist the urge to close my eyes, snuggle deep into my bed and catch a few winks.
Baby Log 9:01pm: WHAT AN AMAZING POWER NAP! Fully rejuvenated and ready to start the second half of my day, I happily bang on my crib to get Beard’s attention. Hiya, Buddy! I’m up!