This popped into my mind at 3:30 am, when my little dollop of delight was up for the SEVEN MILLIONTH time. And every time she wakes up, no matter the reason, she needs boob, stat.
So as I lay there, listening to her start to squawk, willing her with all my might to settle herself, I was thinking: Give a baby a roll and she'll eat for a day, but teach her to roll and you will NEVER GET ANY SLEEP AGAIN.
You see, our India has learned how to roll over onto her stomach. But she cannot get back.
I didn't actually teach her. I just encouraged her.
And now I am all, why for the love of Peter, Paul and Mary - and maybe Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, and even the Eagles and America (both of whom Nick hates. Seriously. How can you hate the Eagles? America? Oz never did give nothing to the Tin Man, that he didn't, didn't already have! But I digress.) - why oh why did I encourage her?
Really, why was I enticing her with toys, cheering her on, all "Yes, sweetie! You can do it!" Why???
Instead, I should've been busy sewing giant pieces of Velcro to the back of her pajamas and onto her sheets.
She can roll both to the right and to the left. She really has to work at it, but she can do it.
You see her turn her head and fix on something to her side. She gears up all, "I want to go to there!" And she throws her arms and legs up and flings them sideways and then she grunts and struggles and wiggles and squiggles and finally, finally flips herself over.
At which point she is all, "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! THESE ARE NOT THE DROIDS I'M LOOKING FOR!"