Bean is going through a high-maintenance faze. I guess separation anxiety kicked in, because she freaks out if anyone other than my husband or I hold her. And by freaks out, I mean big pouty lips, followed by fat tears, topped off with a good dose of lung-clearing screams that the entire tri-state area can hear. This is incredibly inconvenient, because Granny just hit town, and my plan of throwing Bean at Granny and running away has been foiled. My fond fantasies of a haircut are circling the drain. Furthermore, this is Louisiana, and every stranger in the grocery store seems to think they just MUST hold/touch/jack with a baby. I’m running out of polite ways to say “please keep your dang hands to your dang self.” Shopping at Target is oh-so-fun when Bean has been worked up into an anxious frenzy by some well-intentioned but oblivious person who cannot take a hint.
She has also developed an unexpected fear of my camera, and acts like it’s a black alien trying to eat my face if I try to take her picture. I only got the above shot because Bear tried desperately to cheer her up. Most pictures this week look like this:
Notice those big, accusing tears of mommy guilt?
I hope this passes quickly. I would like my easy-going baby back. And that haircut.