1) We need to wean her off bottles again. We reintroduced them because we were worried that she wasn't drinking anything and her poop, when it came, was hard and pellet-like: it looked like balls of oats--like she was a rabbit or horse (Hoof and Mouth!!) or something. Well the poo is soft and squishy again, and Ms. Sophie has decided that bottles are GREAT. She wants nothing but bottles from now on, and her mother and I can just go to hell if we don't like it. Did you hear me? Go to He-eahrghghghg-haurwoooo-harhgh (accompany with visual of small child collapsing in utter distraught abandonment--as if all her little bones had been magjicked out of her body at once).
Which brings me to:
2) The whining. Oh, the mommy and the daddy were quite attentive to the poor little sprout with the ouchy sores in her mouth. Of course she's whimpering when she can't eat strawberries without getting that open sore on her tongue and cheek and lip all acidy ouchy. But it seems Sophie has not made the connection "my monkeys love me very much and will look after me when I am ill", but rather "hey, if I whimper and whine, I get what I want." Well you know what Sophie? Mommy and Daddy do love you very much, and will look after you when you're ill. But sores heal, and now you're just playing us.
Her mother blames this on me and my genes. To which I say: fair enough. I've always been a recreational whiner, and I must admit that the sounds emitting in a nasally waver from my small darling daughter sound disturbingly familiar.
She slept through the night last night. To which I say, Hallelujah!
I woke up at 7:30 this morning, and couldn't figure out why it was light out.
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