As a stay-at-home mom who spends her days changing diapers, napping whenever possible, and regularly speaking in high-pitched, sing-songy baby talk, I sometimes think I can actually feel individual brain cells shrivel up and die. I’ll take intellectual stimulation wherever I can get it, including from this blog, my virtual time-out chair.

Squeak is a tactile being.  She is discovering her sense of touch and I am discovering the joys of watching a baby explore.  I am also discovering the aches and pains of that baby’s clumsy, uncoordinated exploration.  What I’m sure is meant to be loving caresses, snuggles, hugs, kisses and embraces, instead turns into pinches, scratches, smacks, and scrapes.  She stares lovingly into my eyes and then claws mercilessly at the eyelid, seemingly attempting to remove a few lashes.  She returns my smile and then tries to take my smile, pulling painfully on my lip.  She tries to hug me and decides instead that a handful of neck skin would be preferable.  Her efforts to gently run her fingers through my ringlets becomes a painful tug-of-war over my curly locks.  She attempts to show her love and appreciation during breastfeeding by smacking my chest with her open palm or using her little fingernails to scrape a DNA sample from my chest.  I am thankful that Squeak loves me immensely and expresses it physically each and every day.  And, I am thankful when her dad and big sister return home in the evening and take their turns as the recipients of Squeak’s love and affection, while I wander off in search of a band-aid.

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