Meet Miss Fussy Butt

This week we have learned that the heat makes Bella cranky. Teething makes Bella cranky. Being tired makes Bella cranky. Having Mommy at work makes Bella cranky. Having Mommy home makes Bella cranky. Mere existence in this cruel and unusual world makes Bella cranky.

To cope, she throws her head at my chest, whacking her forehead on my collarbone (cue the "how dare you!" tears). When this solves nothing, she kicks her legs out as hard as possible and tries to propel herself out of the wrap (result: "you've trapped me!" tears). When the boob's no good ("you're drowning me!" tears), she usually gets a trip to the playmat (resulting in "you've abandoned me!" tears). Thus, she is strapped back into the wrap. Rinse. Repeat until tired.

Not only has she inherited my pitiful inability to decide what I need when I'm grumpy, but look out Seattle, here come the temper tantrum legs. The Angry Cry is almost always accompanied by the Left Leg Stomp. Kicking into thin air won't do. The foot must make satisfying contact with the floor, or even better, Mommy's stomach. Dave tries to pin that tenacious leg down, saying No child of mine will stomp, and fails miserably. Perhaps we should have discussed our childhood dispositions before deciding it was a good idea to mix them. Obviously we won't be purchasing a house with stairs. Ever.