So What is It?
Emma and I downstairs while Alice gets some added sleep, up, our room. Ms. Austen, or Emma, refuses to tire, looking at everything around her and responding to those colors and objects, fabric patterns woven or sewn with her multi-tonal grunts and groans, hums and little buzzes. Now it appears she tries to bite part of the zip-up sack she’s in (upper-right shoulder portion), what I call the ‘potato sack’ and Alice the ‘sleep sack’ which is probably more accurate, of course.
Now her breaths faster and her movements, little but consistent, accompany, and I just watch and smile, as the little seat she’s in undulates and her excitement intensifies but then morphs to a sort of unexpressible frustration I can tell, as she can’t talk and move the way she’d like. She’s incensed, this petit royal, so I go over and remove her from the trembling chair but then she does become quite agitated so I put her down, and the same intense struggle re-catalyzes. Not sure what she wants, so I pick her—
Up and rock her for a bit the restlessness doesn’t go away, back in the jittering seat.. “Please just let me get to 300 words, Emma,” I think and realize this is selfish but not a single approach from this blogging papa seems to work, and I don’t want to wake Alice if I don’t have to..
She falls asleep in my envelopment after 10 minutes or so of walking and rocking, down in basinet— she’s not fooled. So up again. May need reinforcements in the way of Mama.. my only option at this juncture, this vocal Emma impasse.
I wait to see if she falls into some lucky sleep. And no. Grunts, groans, as if to say “WHY DON’T YOU JUST PICK ME UP AND TAKE ME TO MAMA? I’M HUNGRY!”
So that’s it! I say to myself…