My favorite part of my entire day is when I have to change Claire's diaper first thing in the morning. Well, I guess it is about five seconds before I have to change her diaper. It is when I unsnap her jammies and pull her sticky little feet out and she is so soft and warm and still just a little asleep and those feet are just irresistible. I love those feet.

Today was hard. Some days are just hard. And I miss my mom and dad and Willie smells and I am just not sure I have the time or patience to give him a bath while Claire finds the next disaster to get into. Because no matter how many times I make sure there is not a disaster to get into, Claire finds a disaster to get into.

So I put her down for a nap, and she starts crying, because five days of constant attention has spoiled her, and HOW DARE I WALK AWAY, and where the heck is Daddy?

I know crying it out has it proponents and others think you deserve to be reported to CPS. I'm somewhere in the middle. Actually, I just think you have to do whatever works for you. But for us, crying it out has never really worked, because by the time Claire gets tired enough to fall asleep, it just means she will wake up twenty minutes later even more upset. Or, better yet, I walk in to check on my screaming, crying, hysterical baby, and the stench of a poopy diaper washes over me, and I think, what kind of mother am I that I let her cry for this long!!?


So I will tell you that I was at my wits end by the time I decided to let her cry it out this afternoon. She was naughty on the flight home last night (a first) and I was exhausted from the travel and stress of getting back home. So she cried, and then I went in and changed her poopy diaper, and then she cried some more. And then I cried, and I sat downstairs and listened as she cried and banged her sweet squishy little hands on her crib, and I cried some more.

And finally she fell asleep. An hour later, she cried again. I went and got her, that sweet squishy little girl, but I could tell she was still tired. So we went downstairs to the glider and I held my anti-cuddler (not a word, by the way) close, and just like that, one rock... two rocks... she fell back asleep. And for two hours that sweet little girl slept on my chest, something she has not done in months, something I have longed for, cried for, prayed for, over and over again.

And I know it is silly, but I feel like she knew. I feel like she knew I needed that today. Today I needed her to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. And I love her. I love her sticky feet and her chubby little hands that pound on the edge of her crib, and I even love those warm, salty tears that run down her face when she cries too long. Yes, they break my heart, and I hate to see them, but I love to kiss them away.