I hold my little girl in my arms right now as I type, and I find myself thinking (this has happened soooo often, believe me) of how easy her life is. Literally, what exactly do babies have to worry about?

From when she was born, all she did was make a noise and her hunger would be squelched. Make another form of noise, and she would be allowed to sleep, and on it went. The difference is that her noises have become a bit more intelligible and she’s able to do more with consonants and vowels. The fact that her needs are met like clockwork has remained same. No matter how zonked we all are after a long and fun day out, she would have gotten her naps somewhere in-between, not to mention on the car ride to and from, AND, when we arrive at home, she would be airlifted (carried!) by one of us tired folks and gently placed in her bed from whence her sweet sleep may continue. Seems a bit unfair. Plus, no matter how late we as parents go to bed, sweet precious is up at the crack of dawn and ready to play.

I’ve found myself at different times wondering: was I truly ever that selfish as a baby? Umm, the simple answer is “most def.” Next question: why do we have to grow up at all? Who says? Like, why can’t I just enjoy the life of an 11-month-old, so carefree, so rested (!), so full of energy? And ok, separate but important issue: why do they loathe naps at a stage? Look, if I could go back to my young baby/toddler self, I would warn myself to live life to the full. What would that look like? Napping as though my life depended on it. Napping as though that sleep could be stored up and used in my adult years. But, of course I can’t. I have to live with the fact that I’m not rested enough a lot of the time, that I get concerned about “adulting” things like #bills, and that I am constantly learning to trust. Not so with her. For she’s a jolly good…baby.

I bet there’s a lesson here. Can you decipher it? Good. Because I’m off to find sleep. #oof

Oh, to be an infant again.

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