I have never seen a more lackadaisical diner than my daughter. Grunts, murmurs, hiccups, moans, air-sucking and frantic limb-waving when she's hungry. But mealtime rolls and two minutes later she's out. Zonked. Two steps from REM but won't give up her parking spot. Like taking a Lincoln Navigator to the pump on empty, sticking about a buck-fifty in, turning off the nozzle but leaving it connected. No one's going nowhere. But nothing's happening at the same time. Great analogy.
Anyway. Try to slide her diapered body away from home base and the lungs kick in. Arms grasping for any part of Mum that will let her stay cherrypicked in the VIP zone. Hilarious. Unless you're Mum trying to get something else done. Kinda hard to carry around an eight-pound bundle in that specific situation, I would imagine.
Never imagined she'd have this much personality so early. Hilarious. Can't tell me she has no idea when she's just a little proud of herself. Gets this unwipeable smirk across her upturned face, looking so gleeful about pulling over another one on Dad. Another one being a freshly-defiled diaper 44 seconds after it was freshly and lovingly put on. Kid's got funny.
My parents say I cried a lot when I was wee. I don't remember, and their claims are a bit dubious. But just for the sake of conjecture let's say when she does get all worked up, red face, clenched fists, I can't get too irritated thinking that she may be just a little bit like her old Dad.
Looks like her hair's gonna be curly.