On the morning of Evie’s birth, I had Facebook open and at the ready on my iPhone. Right after snapping the picture of her first breath, I grabbed the phone and posted:
Evie is here!
Well, as often happens, the iPhone interpreted that a wee bit differently:
Now, all of six weeks later, I’m coming to think that the clairvoyant subroutines built into the new iOS 6 update are nothing short of astounding. We’d better be on the lookout; Skynet is bound to become self-aware any day now.
It’s hard to overestimate a newborn’s ability to wreak havoc on your sleep patterns, your sanity, and your wardrobe. Evie’s had some issues with spit-up and gas lately, leading to fussiness and more wardrobe changes than Lady Gaga at the VMAs, giving rise to Evie’s latest alias, Baby Gaga™. Yes, She Was Born This Way (rimshot).
Anyhow, she’s developed this mystifying habit of going from total milk-coma to full on, here-comes-the-whambulance wail in nearly nothing flat. To say it’s disconcerting is like saying that being mugged after using an ATM is a pet-peeve. After Baby Momma and I try the usual stuff—rocking, singing, unproductive burping—we get inventive. My latest discovery: walking the length of our bungalow, back and forth while gently patting her behind, will usually calm her down, even during the most extreme episodes. It needs to be said here that my wife has to deal with this a lot more than I do, as she spends the entire working day alone with Evie. (Yes, Baby Momma is standing right over my shoulder as I write this.)
If the past month and a half is anything to go by (and who knows, maybe it isn’t) this eventually won’t work either.
Drat.
