Or should we rename it: Living Hell. That sounds more appropriate.
My sweet, sweet girl has cried more this week than she's cried since she was a newborn. It all started Friday out of the blue. Day care called around lunch to let me know that Lily had been crying an awful lot all morning long. I rushed up there thinking she was in pain or sick. When I walked through the door I saw my girl red faced, crocodile tears pouring down her cheeks. I ran over and picked her up out of the highchair. Instantly, and I mean INSTANTLY, she was smiling and laughing. I played with her for a good 10 minutes or so and tried to set her in one of the jumparoos. Not happening. The second I bent down... before her feet even touched the thing... she was wailing. I stood back up. Smiling. Bent back over. Wailing. WTH?
I decided to take her home with me, since obviously it was that mean ol' day care that was making my babe cry. Boy was I wrong. I did not set her down PERIOD unless she was: 1. In a deep sleep and I put her in the crib, or 2. I had to shower at some point. Other than that... she was literally attached to my hip. She didn't want Jack, she didn't want Papa to even look at her, she wanted me and me only. Cute in theory, but not so cute when you can't eat or blowdry your hair or even pee without a 20 lb. baby in your arms. My body feels like I've run marathons all weekend.
I feel confident in saying I *think* we're making progress so far this week, but I pray this is just a short little phase she's going through.