Baby mine, don't you cry...

So Zack is putting the baby to bed now. It’s so hard for me. I’ve come to terms with the fact that I love that she needs me. Is that awful? I don’t know but it’s true, nonetheless. Now, don’t get me wrong; I love that Zack is actively involved in her routines and I feel a certain amount of freedom regarding being left out of the bedtime business, but still…. She’s only eight months old and I’m already grieving that someday she won’t be my little baby anymore… I love her so…

Good God… She’s bawling her eyes out. Do I intervene? Do I sit here like an asshole, typing away??? Oh, it makes my stomach hurt. I could turn of the monitor… or I could run upstairs and take her in my arms and kiss her face and nurse her and make Zack feel like a loser and ruin everything all the while making her a happy little clam. I don’t remember reading any of this in all the crappy parenting books…

She’s quiet now…. Another glass of wine?? I think so.