My feelings towards Laura's age these days are best described as vacillating, or perhaps more along the lines of whiplash-inducing. Just a few days ago I waxed poetic about how this is the ideal age, because she's still such a great size to hold, stays put, and is just so deliciously babyish. 'If she could only stay this way!' I lamented to myself.
But then comes a spell such as the last couple of days, when we are constantly wondering if it's teething (that ever-present threat), or her shots, or just plain boredom that's behind her fussiness. The guessing game is my biggest frustration in parenting babies, and why in the end it's okay that they grow up.
I don't know if it's her age, or our traveling and lack of schedule, or just her individual nature, but it seems that Laura's days are more inconsistent than were Clare's or Danny's. I suppose I am partially recalling their infancies through rose-colored glasses. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it I distinctly remember Danny's afternoon nap being repeatedly interrupted by his, er, bio breaks. The uncertainty of a day's progression is difficult to accept, given how much I really, really like routine. Why does she nap beautifully one day and horrifically the next? And why is she sometimes still cranky after a good nap, and other days Miss Peppy Sunshine despite virtually no naps at all? I guess it's just the nature of the beast. Or baby.
Above all is the pure joy derived from one of her sweet, sincerely delighted smiles - which more than makes up for the agonizing moments.
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