Rumor has it that as a baby I was a . . . . cry baby.
Eye witnesses who lived through my first days on earth will remember me as an inconsolable, finicky, miserable baby-blob of relentless wailing. I so exasperated my parents that in their sleep deprivation they thought it was a good idea to make a recording of my cries of protest. I think they might have made money from it by selling it to the military to be used as a torture device for prisoners of war.
Regardless, as the story goes, the only thing that would calm the raging beast they brought home bundled in baby blankets was a hammock. My father set one up for me inside the apartment and in it I finally found the comfort and security I’d lost when I left my mother’s womb.
Now, 40 years later I know myself well enough to know that I don’t function when I’m sleep deprived. I’m irritable, cranky, my mind is cloudy and I’m miserable. I really, Really, REALLY would not make a good prisoner of war. For some reason, I’m thinking baby girl is coming on the scene to punish me for what I put my parents through those early years. Maybe because I was (I’m not now) high maintenance, I’m thinking she too will be high maintenance and that I’m ill-equipped to manage her, the Natives, school, the household – my life on zero sleep. I’m really praying she has Cowboy’s temperament. I’m really praying that she be a cooperative, cooing, gurgly, angel of a baby that will permit me at least five hours of sleep per night. BUT in the chance that she is more like me then him we bought this –
A baby hammock! I’m feeling REALLY good about this. My confidence rate is on the rise. I feel like I’ve scored points. Her first days on earth will be an easy transition from the security and comfort of my belly, to the security and comfort of her new home. I know she’s going to love her baby hammock – I did!