We really had no idea how easy-going our boys were as babies until the last seven months. And if you took the time to count back, it would be as plain as unflavored yogurt, that was when #10 made her debut. Not to say she came out with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. No, she was a screech-owl in baby clothing.
#10, once in her mother’s arms, made her demands. Well, what baby does not want to nurse and be held. At least, that was what I believed. But now I have reconsidered. #10 is a tyrant.
Yes, all she desires is her mother’s full, complete, and undivided attention. When she wants to eat, she wants to be fed in the privacy of the bedroom. When she wants to play, she wants to do so in her mother’s arms. And when she cannot have what she believes to be her birthright, she will let out a hollering screeching cry, that not only continues without end, but also puts an air raid siren to shame.
I am a little surprised that the Armed Forces have not asked for her services. It seems she is a little too much even for them.
That is not say she is a terror all the time. When she is happy, she is very happy. She has a smile that can light up the deepest cavern, and a giggle that sets all the children off into fits of laughter like a pack of bouncing hyenas. But above all, she is smart. Most friends do not see her fussy side, as she does her best to give them smiles, while holding in reserve her attitude for us.
I hope this is not a glimpse of things to come.