Godspeed, little girl, sweet dreams, little girl. Oh my love will fly to you each night on angels wings. Godspeed, sweet dreams.
I sing this to Scarlette before I leave each night. She's a week shy of five months old and while it's so much better, I still cry every evening as I get on the elevator and leave her behind. But the nurses are no longer recommending anti-depressants to me every day so either my disposition has gotten sunnier or they were in bed with the pharmaceutical companies. I really love conspiracy theories so let's go with the latter. Geronimo.
Our stupid blasted really cute dog has taken to whimpering at three o clock in the morning. I keep jumping up out of bed thinking it's Scarlette crying and then I'm like "Oh right. My baby doesn't live here." And then I throw things at the bathroom door to make the dang dog shut up. Maybe I already told y'all that story. I blame that on my sleep deprivation.
I have started bringing home blankets with the baby's scent on them to try and get the dog used to the idea of her. Except Lucy is weird and keeps trying to pee on the blankets. For obvious reasons, I really am not fond of the idea of the dog trying to mark her territory on my baby and so I'd love any suggestions on acclimating her to the new arrival.
