I have heartburn today. For the first time since the pregnancy last year. I haven't been eating anything unusual, so I have to assume that its staying up late with a cranky Baby D, work and that "heifer, you better not put me in this car seat" cry that he's been performing for the last couple of days. I guess this new cry is a good thing: it shows that he's upset that he and his dad aren't playing on the floor anymore since we all have to go to work. He laughs like a big boy when my husband lifts him up and flies him around. And cries like a banshee when I put him in his car seat.
Mind you, the car seat is the luxury cruise liner of baby transportation. Its got two cup holders on each side, plush upholstery a pillow and extra cushions that you can add as needed. And it sits tall enough that the poor fella doesn't have his baby feet bottoms touching the back of our rear car seat. So tall that I can't see in the baby mirror whether someone is sticking him with needles back there. That's really the only explanation for that shrill of a cry. Well, that or Dad has been trying to one up me on the playtime fun while I'm napping to recover from the previous night of baby musical chairs (bed - crib - bed).
I'm seriously thinking about putting his crib in his own room. But my mind is stuck on the scene where my first smiling - then terrified - baby gets his chubby arm or leg trapped between the slats like the doll Consumer Product Safety Commission used to demonstrate the dangers of the recalled dropside cribs. And we don't even have a dropside crib.
I guess he'll remain bedside in our room until he's old enough to operate the bolt-clippers himself.