A Night Sans Papa

We made it! Our first night sans-papa was uneventful—which, when Fusskins takes such pleasure in dramatically grand and prolonged entrances, is a good thing. Lucia was a little angel all day and all night. Thursday morning, we went to a baby-and-mama workout class, where she sat peacefully in her car seat while some of the other babies cried and cried (the roles, surely, will be reversed at some point). She was wary when Julie, the teacher, greeted her, giving her a serious, appraising stare that made her look older than twelve weeks. For the rest of the day she napped when I wanted her to, ate peacefully when she wanted to, and went to bed with nary a Fusskins in sight.

Friday was fine as well; these regular naps—two hours each, morning and afternoon—seem to be working wonders. She’s more cheerful when she’s up, content to sit on my lap and read books, dance with me to a variety of songs, and roll over again and again on her blanket on the floor. It seems to be getting more fun for her—she even smiled a few times when she did it, although that could be because of my wild cheering each time it happens.

Friday afternoon, we had visitors—a girl I met in prenatal yoga, along with her six-month-old baby. It was nice to chat about babies and etc.—look at me, being social, talking to other human beings, making plans to (gasp) leave the house. If you’re thinking it sounds like a new year’s resolution, you’re correct.

And then—yay—Andrew came home Friday night. We picked him up at the airport, and we were all in one place once again.