I am at a new low. The babe, numero fiv-o, the one that should be easier than a piece of cake because she's well, number five, is going to get the best of me. She had roseola and thrush. Now that she's better she's decided:
1. never to bottle feed again
2. inhabit my body again, or at the very least, become another unnecessary appendage
3. refuse to make nice with anyone who is remotely related to her
4. howl at the moon when she sees me but isn't attached to me.
Oh, and she growls. Really. But that's nothing new.
So, this means that unless that kid is sleeping soundly (only after anywhere from a five minute to a 2 and a half hour ordeal) she is wrapped up in my right arm propped on my hip. Anything else and the sirens sound.
She's got quite a rep, this little California blossom - up here visiting all the Washington relatives who can only look at her like some savage exotic creature, fearful if they come too close she' ll scream, scratch or bite. They take pictures, they smile, they stay very far away.
Seriously, I need some help. I am afraid this will be my last post until the kid has her driver's license and leaves the house.