I laid The Lad down for tummy time while I pumped. He was good for a minute, but then started wailing and flailing. I sang and patted his back with one hand and when I was finally finished, left him in the room to quickly clean up everything. By the time I came back, he was asleep.
We have self-soothing, people.
Even better: Seeing his eyes flutter, I flopped down on the bed next to him and stroked his back. He grinned and let out a soft, "heh!" We have the start of laughter.
Meanwhile, my bigger baby's sense of humor is developing. The husband asked the other day, "Am I a good daddy or what?"
"What," The Boy said.
I was dozing on the couch, The Lad on my chest, after a 5 a.m. feeding, having decided there was no point in going back to bed. I heard The Boy slide out of bed and come padding across the carpet of his room and onto the tile of our living room, headed toward our bedroom.
"Mornin', Momma," he said. "Here comes your monkey."
I spoke too soon about the self-soothing. The Lad just woke up crying and is now cuddled on my chest. Typing is a challenge, however, a sweet-smelling baby head is inches from my nose.
This motherhood business has its perks.