13. Three Noble Moons

3 months old and my evil genius is hard at work devising new and exotic times of night to wake up.

Granted, we've committed every sleep conditioning crime there is, but I was really hoping she might rise above those tired statistics. Bill will suffer no should-dos, and instead follows a dark and delicate compass he and Noble seem to share. He insists he's just watching to see when she looks tired. I dread the night I'm in charge of putting her to sleep, and I think she can tell. I've never seen her look tired, just hungry and suspicious.

My instincts - compulsions - have grown more aggressive in the past month. We were on our way to the store last night and she was crying in the back seat; maybe she was lonely? Optimistically I decided to forge on, but a nagging sympathy made me turn around before I left the neighborhood. 

For a while there back in month 2, I was feeling strong enough to let her cry, ignoring my curdling blood and short-circuiting brain in favor of some paltry accomplishment. I thought I really had this French parenting thing down - delayed gratification, laissez-faire et la reste. Alas, my baby is 13 weeks old and I'm just an average, hovering American who speaks passable French.

We took her to Community First's Village of Lights this weekend, where she took in the festivities from the warmth of the Moby wrap. Thanks to the epileptic flash of the synchronized light show, Trans-Siberian Orchestra's most revered work is now the soundtrack to my nightmares. She was fine, awe-struck even, during our walk through that well-meaning blinking hell, but that night in the car something woke up and tore out of her. It's a grating, frantic, threatening scream, and has resurfaced a few times since. During a late visit with family Monday night she went from smiles and grins to tortured desperation (poor Debra!) that raged on until I sat with her in the bathtub, where she struggled to catch her breath. Next time we're going to try mushrooms.

12. Noble Holds Court

Ever flown with an infant? But have you ever flown with an infant on breastmilk? Some of us might consider a bloody mary, a dose of dramamine or some chewing gum to be their MVP on a flight, but I've never known anything to relax a body like that sugar under the shirt. Legs danglin all over the arm rests, eyes buggin, diaper loose, shirt off and she's like, shhhhhhh, I'mbloatedIjustwannawatch *bleccccccch* Ghostbusers.

Twelve weeks old, and Noble's just returned from a weekend in NY. She made about 30 new friends on her tidy 3 day tour of her yankee family tree, humbly receiving supplicants in her jammies or while still at the breast. Magnanimous as ever, she agreed to appear in a great deal of photos.

We use an app with assorted baby sleeps sounds (it will run in the background on your phone, moms!) to calm her in the car and at bedtime, and her favorite setting is the sound of a clanking subway. Sunday evening as we rode the A train up to Inwood to visit the Doornbos Babes she sat still, mesmerized for 30 minutes gazing contentedly at her fellow passengers. No squirming, just people watching like the rest of us. 

In the chilly glow of midtown Manhattan she delighted the crowd in her alligator suit (an homage to Auntie Hilary Bettis' debut of Alligator playing now at The New Georges,) on our way to Rockefeller Center. In the arms of her granddad with her tiny pink face and big glassy eyes, she was carried under thousands of lights for a good hour.

And then promptly fell asleep.

  I had no idea how well this kid would travel, or how much she would develop. While in NY she rolled over, back to front. She can now fit 90% of her fist in her mouth, and she's starting to sit up in her lounger thanks to all the ab conditioning we've been working on. Arching her back to assist being picked up, she is starting to inch off the edge of her swing. Next time we're on a plane we'll have to buy her a seat to keep her feet out of strangers' laps.

Now that she's back at home after being so exalted, Noble requests to be held constantly. It's kind of a drag, especially when she absently strokes your face with her velvet hands or nuzzles the cool soft of her cheek against yours on accident. It's like, you want to get unpacked but you're stuck in front of a mirror showing her how excellent she is over your shoulder. Or you spend an extra hour in the bath because she's smiling reeeeaaal hard when you submerge everything but her cherubic face. Who has time for this??? 

Baby cuddles for sale. Cheap.