I have what you (and Dr. Sears) would call a “high needs baby”.
My daughter is almost seven months old and still wakes twice a night to eat; she’s not just nursing for comfort…she’s actually eating.
She is exclusively breast fed and I honestly don’t mind waking up with her.
When she cries, I know that she’s crying for a reason; she’s communicating a need.
That need may be as simple as needing to be picked up.
But, I’m ok with that.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not a “mommy martyr” or anything. If I have something that I have to do and it’s not conducive to holding Caroline or being in her immediate vicinity, then she has to deal with that. However, I know that she’s not going to be a baby forever. Hell, it seems like just yesterday that I came home with that little screaming bundle of ugliness. (Thank GOD she grew into a cute face!)
She’s six months, two weeks and three days old. I think that I should point out here that I only know the exact number of days, weeks and months because I have a nifty little ticker that tells me.
She sits up by herself, crawls out of a sit to where ever the hell she wants, pulls up to things and then proceeds to walk wherever she pleases. She’s one pretty awesome kid.
Yes, this is post is about my kid; get over it. Other than marrying my husband, she is quite possible the best damn thing I’ve ever done. You’ll excuse me if I’m a tad bit proud.
Rest assured, if she was retarded, then I’d brag about that too.
What can I say? She’s just a cool little chick.
And here’s the obligatory picture:
Oops…let’s try this one…