At midnight on New Year’s Eve Taylor and I snuck into Gwen’s bedroom to make goo-goo faces at her. I’m always so worried about waking her up that I rarely get a chance to see her sleeping anymore, and it’s so sweet. Sleeping kids in general, all curled up in their blankets clutching their teddy bears (or elks, in Gwen’s case), or sprawled across the bed with limbs everywhere (in Sym’s case).
Afterwards I made Taylor stay up really late with me drinking glass after glass of water so we wouldn’t be hungover parents the next day. It worked, we weren’t hungover, but we were the world’s most tired parents instead. I woke up to the sounds of Gwen sweetly babbling in her crib, but that soon escalated to yelling, and I found her standing at the railing, with her elk and soother and other toys flung onto the floor. We think she’s sending them to get help.
Taylor gave her breakfast while I showered, and when I got out I found him lying on the living room floor. I joined him and in no time at all we’d both fallen asleep. At some point I made us both move the couch. Gwen bobbled around us benevolently, giving us hugs and toys and the contents of the recycling bin. At one point she very delicately placed a receipt on a slumbering Taylor’s ear.
How lucky to have such a kind baby, who let us relax and recover? She shared her snacks with us (hand-feeding me Cheerios off the floor) and was perfectly content to have the laziest day possible.