As I have told you countless times, before I had babies I knew virtually nothing about babies.
(I know a lot about babies now. They’re the needy, wriggly, emotionally unstable people I had always suspected, but also they must be burped every single time you feed them and they use more receiving blankets than any childless person would find logical.)
I did not suffer learning infant care alone in an on-the-job training crash course. No, my husband, he had already had babies, so he knew all the things. Or so I thought.
When Sassy was tiny, she was an open-minded eater. Bottle, breast, fingertip of sweet potatoes or ice cream, it didn’t matter, she’d gladly eat it up. This allowed her father and her siblings to bond with her during feedings, while I got to do things like put my arms down and pay attention to the other children.
When Sassy was done nursing in the night, I’d wake The Mister to burp her and he’d put her back to sleep.
She did not scream her fool head off without reason. Within a few weeks, we were able to decipher the crying and appease her. She loved her pacifier and her swing.
The Mister, having been repeatedly scorned and rejected by Moo, stopped trying to help. At one point, in a fury of helplessness, he actually yelled, “Don’t ask me to hold her again!”
I know, I know, you can’t imagine. Neither can I, now.
Indignant and full of wrath, I fer damn sure wouldn’t stop asking him to hold her.
One day, I had plenty enough to do, and I decided as easily as I could wear her indoors, The Mister could wear baby Moo while he mowed the grass.
“Mower’s so loud, you won’t even hear her screaming.”
Well, he turned that mower on, and she fell right to sleep. Her little head bobbed along as he mowed. It was more effective than rocking, sitting on the dryer, blaring Beethoven, or even a car ride! This became a thing.
“You should mow the grass around 11. She’ll be ready for a nap by then.”
Eventually, after about six months in the world, Moo stopped screaming her fool head off and got cute.
By eight months, I had her drinking from a sippy cup and eating baby cereal like a champ.
By nine months, the entire family was wrapped around her tiny pink finger, most especially her daddy.
All hail the lawnmower, for it is the true Baby Whisperer.
Happy Friday Everyone!