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.