I'm not going to say that Brooklynn has become troublesome, because for the vast majority of every day, she's a wonderful baby. She sleeps, she eats, she lays on the floor and kicks. About the worst thing she does is fill her diaper up with some weird substance that looks a little bit like spoiled mustard with some blended raisins thrown in for good measure, and aside from the fact that either Rhiannon or I have to wipe that weird substance off her butt at random times throughout the day and night, she does pretty well.
Except around the time we try to put her to sleep for the night, as in the time that we are both reaching the point of delusion and need to pass out ourselves. Then it's time to be fussy and Miss CriesAlot. The thing is, she knows she's tired. We know she's tired. The neighbors know she's tired. I'm pretty sure her screams let someone in the Pentagon know she's tired.
I think we figured out that she's also running on about half a tank of food around this time as well. The problem is, "the buffet", which it provides wonderful food, is also extremely comforting. So comforting, that Brooklynn falls asleep well before she is actually finished eating. As long as one of us holds her, she sleeps, but the instant we try to lay her down in her crib, the National Security Threat Level Orange screaming begins.
We gave in and gave her formula. Last line of defense against the terror sirens. It worked.
We're going to bed - goodnight.
What! Me, fussy? Never.