My Ethan is snoozing peacefully in his swing, freeing me up for house cleaning, thank you card writing, and blowing the dust off an ancient blog. We have had a great day today, and I have gotten some things done, too. He's dying to smile at me, I just know it.
This swing thing has saved me from feeling like a failed wife & mother. (So has turning off Netflix, but that's unrelated.) Ethan and I play, meaning I talk to him and he looks at me like he's growling, which makes me laugh. Then, when he gets fussy and tired, I put him in the swing and he, well, he swings. Contentedly until he falls asleep. Then he sleeps for a long time.
Yesterday I was reading a baby book for tips on getting him to sleep in his own bed, and the author referred to swings as "mechanical mothering." Wow. Talk about ripping out a heart and stepping on it.
I guess no matter what I do, my kids are going to end up as serial killers. Or, maybe just I will?
