Pat

Daddy's thumb is Lyla's new favorite toy. Christmas is going to be so easy.

We haven't mastered the whole spitting-up skill yet. After a feeding, Julie or I drape Lyla over a shoulder with a towel underneath and pat her back. She's supposed to barf regurgitated breast milk into the towel, right? Well, generally she just sits there. The barfing comes later when it's less convenient for everyone.

Last night at 2:00 AM, Lyla addressed us from her bassinet. She was so irate that it was impossible to discern what she was saying. I rose to investigate and found her floating in a pool of her own blurp. I hauled Ms. Drippy to the nursery and rooted through the top dresser drawer for a newborn nightie. Why we have the newborn stuff mixed with the three-month stuff is beyond me. It's hard enough to find what you need when it's not the middle of the night.

One nightie, one bassinet sheet, and one swaddled, dry baby later, sleep returned. We're slowly getting Lyla to sleep on our terms; now it's time to get her to spit up on our terms. Maybe when she's a bit older and has more ways to entertain herself beyond holding my thumb, she'll stop saving her blurp for when she's bored and wants some action.

By the way, Julie rejected this as our Christmas photo: