On a darker note, I’ve been getting into a bad habit these past nights of putting off the inconsolably crying pooklet onto his mother.
It goes something like this: Rock, coo, binkify (pacifier), sing, pat, rub, but nothing works, so I leave and basically say, “Your turn.” I’m convinced his mother is better at soothing him than I, so it’s mainly for expediency’s sake that I do this, but it’s become a habit of comfort – my comfort. I say ‘mainly’ admitting that I’m also a tired guy who wants out of this trying situation, but because the wife is better, it’s become easy to pass this duty off to her. The wife rightly and nightly admonishes me to see this as bonding time and one of many challenges to come. I know this to be true and I know I’m being a baby, a selfish baby who’s become pampered by giggles and smiles, naps and feedings, playtime and tummy time, and even the cute (albeit intense) cries he makes when the bottle is taken away for burpsies. I don’t mind getting spat up on (which happens with just about every feeding now), and I don’t even mind changing diapers. But those aren't really all that challenging, and they're brief endeavors at that.
I think this is just laziness borne out of the blessings that come with an easy baby. If he were colicky, I’d have more trials and a higher threshold.
As I prepare to tackle this afresh, patience will be the key, for starters. I go through all the remedies like I’m checking them off, but I don’t spend very long with each one. I need to be optimistic and creative. When my back starts to ache or my sciatica kicks in from rocking him while standing, I can sit and bounce the knee for a vibratory effect.
Here’s hoping I’ll improve my endurance and attitude. I do, after all, enjoy improvising songs for his sake.
Speaking of songs, here’s one we sing when we’re all alert and in a good mood:
When you are a pooklet, DINK! DINK!
Everyone’s your friend
When you are a pooklet, DINK! DINK!
Giggles have no end
I’m a little pooklet, DINK! DINK!
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