The wrong side of the bed.

Almost every day, I think how lucky I am that Aidan wasn't colicky and that he seems to be an otherwise very happy, very easy baby. He eats well, he sleeps through the night and he smiles a lot. And I wait for the other shoe to drop. Like today. When he wakes up screaming inconsolably, and you sing, and you hug, and go on patrol for anything that could be hurting him. The toes. Check. Fingers. Check. Folds. Check. Diaper. Check. He ate an hour ago, could he be hungry again? File that, keep going. No obvious pain anywhere. Still wailing. Walk around house, look outside, listen to birds, turn on TV, walk around some more, slows to a whimper. Progress. Try to play, he laughs a little, more wailing. Apparently false progress. Watch Meredith stomp grapes on Today show. Still wailing. Sit in "Fred", (our big black Lazy Boy chair that doesn't match with anything but is the most comfortable thing ever), rock, sing his favorite song, "This Old Man," slows to whimper. Progress. Grows to wailing. Darn. OK, I'll make a bottle. He eats, burps, wails some more. OK, I'll give him that Humphreys stuff for his teeth. Lops it up, more wailing. Back in Fred. More rocking and more wailing. Wriggles self from my shoulder down to my lap, lays on side, sticks thumb in mouth, falls asleep. Sigh. Need coffee. Ps. Did not win Lottery.