Joe was screaming all morning, and for a good chunk of the afternoon...
until Mr. Graff happened upon brilliance.
Brilliance, in this case, looks like an old bed sheet sewn into a curtain, knotted in four places---two for hand holds, two to prevent escapes. Insert passionately upset 11 month old, and swing gently between legs, like so:
Then reassure mother that baby is not being smothered as the cooing noises give way to sleep. Mother needed to peek at baby in the swing to be reassured. Joe, it seems, needed his feet up by his head.
And out he went.
When Rae was little, well, more little than now, I believed sanity was bought with D batteries. His swing was the only place he would sleep, when he would consent to sleep---and as soon as it stopped, he popped awake.
Mr. Graff would swing him in his car seat, or in hammocks made of lava lavas.
Rae would shout, "WING, WING, WING!" when we passed a playground and want to swing for most of an hour. He still likes to swing. Just not in improvised swings between Dad's legs anymore.
Joe never really needed to swing before now. Usually when he's tired, he gets fussy for a few minutes and just goes to sleep. I guess making improvised swings really is one of those parenting skills that transfers between kids.
No comments:
Post a Comment