A blue moon

Muffin cried for an hour tonight.

That was somewhat traumatic for me.

Not because he was pulling a Jordan where she cried for two hours without stopping for a breath and made me feel that she hated me.

But because he has the sniffles. The problem is when a little baby has a sniffles, it's like a major case of the flu. His eyes are teary. He can't breathe, he's all congested and getting him to lie flat might actually cause him to choke on his mucous.

And he is usually so mild mannered and happy, anytime that he is so upset causes us to be upset.























So he cries and cries, not knowing how to settle himself and get himself comfortable.

All rules are broken when this happens.

Usually he's made to go to sleep in his room.

Usually there's no rocking. (Apparently, you spoil the child. I don't do it for a more physical reason. It hurts my knees!)

Usually the minute he falls off to sleep, he is quickly put into the cot.

And usually it's either myself or the helper that gets him to sleep.

But tonight, all that went out the window quite quickly as his discomfort escalated.

Nothing we did. Not the singing, the swaying or soothing did it for him.

Eventually Packrat, with his big arms and broad shoulders, stepped in, talked to him, comforted him and rocked him. The crying petered off and Muffin was able to fall off to sleep in his father's big, safe arms. Packrat also discovered that carrying him face out, which I wouldn't have thought was conducive to sleeping was what worked best.

























And then, silence finally reigned over the house. Occasionally broken by the remnants of a sob.

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