But she still didn't like. She didn't play with the snow. She looked up at us for a minute or two, whimpered and then cried. Next year, I tell myself, next year I'll be fighting with her to keep her out of the snow. But this first year, well, she's not a snow baby.

Baby Sitting in the Snow

I woke up at 5am this morning in a 49 degree house. For whatever reason, the thermostat chose the coldest night we've had yet to shut off and refuse to turn the heat on. After tinkering with the thermostat for a couple minutes, the heat miraculously started up. I checked on Baby J., who had burrowed under her blanket so that she was completely covered from head to toe. Her room was freezing of course. It's already the coldest room in the house, even on days when the heat is blasting, and with it having been off for so long, I can only imagine how cold her room had gotten. I took her out of her crib, even though she was sleeping, and I let her sleep on me for awhile.

We kept each other warm for the next couple hours while the furnace did its job. I didn't get any sleep really, since Baby J. doesn't sleep soundly. She sleeps like she's continually being stuck with a cattle prod. Every 30 seconds or so, her head lurches up and she slams it into my face, and she wriggles around, changing from side to side, sticking her feet into my stomach and kicking, sticking her hands in my face, snoring, murmuring, and so on, until I just give up on the idea of sleep and I just lie there and look at her.

So I'm thoroughly exhausted on this Tuesday morning. Unfortunately, come Baby J.'s naptime, I'll still be working. Why don't I get a mid-day siesta? Shouldn't I be entitled?

D.