There’s nothing worse than hearing your baby cry. It just tears you up inside.

The last few days (and nights!) Cy has become Mr. Fussy Pants. Even after he’s changed, cuddled and snuggled, he exhibits short bouts of fussing and crying. He acts as if he’s hungry, but when given milk, he doesn’t want it. Don’t think this qualifies as colic quite yet – apparently, that’s when a baby cries for 3 hours straight, at least 3 times a week – but it hurts to watch (and listen to) all the same. Maybe it’s gas. Maybe it’s a growth spurt. Maybe it’s just him showing us who’s boss.

As if we didn’t already know!

What we do know, is that the only thing that seems to soothe him is being snuggled in a sling, and rocked to sleep by mom or dad dancing around the house. It doesn’t matter what’s on the stereo, as long as there’s a good beat to bounce to. Sounds cute, I know. And it was. The first 10 times.

Yesterday for instance, I began the day by shaking my ass to Madonna. Don’t get me wrong – I love Madonna – but there really is a time and place for everything – and 6:30 in the morning is WAY too early, even for Madge. The last time I danced while the sun came up, I had glow sticks in my hand. Not a baby.

My, how times change.