... well, sometimes. We escaped the 100+ degree heat to Stinson Beach a couple of times last week, where it was balmy and the water warm enough for Steve to do some body surfing sans wet suit. Freya slept through most of it, but managed to nurse without getting sand in her mouth.
Earlier in the week, however, things were not so placid. She turned into that baby, you know, the one that wails in public spaces. She squirmed and screamed through the doctor's visit, made a ruckus at the bank, and was inconsolable at the post office. I, in turn, became one of those parents, you know, the one that attracts roughly equal amounts sympathetic looks from other parents of colicky babies, hostile glares from business men in suits, smug grins from super-moms whose baby slept through the night from day 1, and encouraging nods from elderly ladies who know that this, too, shall pass. Meanwhile, I got to experience the bath of emotions ranging from embarrassment to mortification, from indignation to resignation, and arrived, by the third stop on Freya's trail of tears, at so-what-ness.
Oh, and at the pediatrician's we also learned that Freya now weighs 9 lbs 11 oz, and grew half an inch -- both of which land her in the 55th percentile. We are celebrating her being such an average baby while it lasts ;-)
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