Daddy's Little Girl

Michael is one of those people who remembers everything.

Ever.

Sometimes it's wildly interesting and entertaining since he can tell stories on most any topic with vivid details that are peppered with poignant quotes and include relevent anecdotes.

Many times it's wildly irritating because he will not let you forget he is ALWAYS right.

Always.

Always.

Cadence will learn this trait about her Daddy. But it will really hit home when she is sixteen years old.

We did a handful of trips recently. Baby Tour 2011 where we introduced The Bean to her relatives. Mama and Daddy love to travel. Cadie isn't as excited by it:

Living it up Texas-style

Rocking it out in New York

Getting dirty down south in Savannah

That last photo is a bit deceptive.

You see, two weeks ago, The Bean, Michael and I went to Savannah. On it's own, a nice-sounding excursion to celebrate the end of summer and a trip where we weren't visiting with anyone. However, combine this with the prior two weeks of traveling we did and you have the exact recipe for infant meltdown.

The photo above was taken as we pulled into Savannah and rolled The Bean into the hotel lobby. Approximately 4 minutes and 36 seconds later, The Bean looked like this:

Apparently, she had enough with the travel, the hotels, the scenery, the world. And she was going to make herself very clear on that fact.

It was looking like a meltdown might be imminent as we rolled into the hotel room in Savannah, but being the naive, stupid parents we are we thought if we simply laid down in the bed together (all quiet-like) that the meltdown would evaporate.

The eyes bulging out of her head was not reassuring.

But then I made an error of enormous proportions.

In an effort to remove the haze of flies circling me from having not showered in days (a hectic travel schedule and an infant doesn't leave a lot of room for other things), I jumped into the shower to peel the grime off of me.

This was not the correct thing to do.

As the first drop of water hit my body, I heard the screams begin.

But Michael is well-equipped to deal with The Bean's meltdowns. He's done it before with great success. So I squirted shampoo into my hair. Quickly, mind you, because I knew the situation outside the shower curtain could turn at any moment.

I managed to reach my hand up to my hair to lather the shampoo when the bathroom door flung open and an ogre holding a screaming banshee barged in yelling, "DO YOU HAVE TO TAKE A SHOWER RIGHT NOW??? YOUR CHILD NEEDS YOU!"

"That is not my child. I don't have children. What screaming?"

I didn't say that.

Instead, I leapt out of the running shower to don my SuperMom cape...except, of course, there was no cape handy.

I grabbed the child (not my child, so she doesn't get a name) from Michael's arms.

Um...infants' whose heads have fallen off from the intensity of screaming they are doing, do not like to be grabbed by soaking wet people. You're welcome for that handy tip.

I will not draw a cartoon of the following, use your imagination to picture: me naked and soaking wet barely holding onto a child who is trying to wriggle out of my arms and screaming her head off as I am attempting to shove a boob in her mouth and being chased around the room by Michael who is attempting to throw a towel around me.

The image in your head right now is probably what scarred our child and set off the following series of events.

I managed to get dry and get The Bean to calm down.

I give The Bean to Michael so I can get dressed.

The Bean's head explodes.

I put on whatever clothes are closest and get The Bean to calm down.

Later that night I give The Bean to Michael so I can tinkle.

The Bean's head explodes.

This goes on and on and on and on. The Bean can be held by no one but Mama or else her head falls off. We (hysterically) think the issue will be resolved by the next morning. Oh no.

By day five my own head was ready to fall off. Michael was shoving pencils into his eyeballs. The dogs all ran away from home. And the cat committed suicide.

Kidding aside, it was a tough time and poor Michael simply wanted to play with his daughter who used to love him and was unknowingly replaced with the demon spawn of Satan. All because of Savannah.

Suffice it to say, we will not be visiting there again.

On day six I needed adult interaction and decided to host a party at our house. Because what's better for a child who can't stop screaming when someone else holds them than to have a dozen people over the house who want nothing more than to hold the cuteness?

Guess what happened?

You're never going to guess.

Actually, it cured her. She went to people willingly without fuss. She was happy as a clam being held by her Daddy. It was as if the past week didn't happen at all.

Later that night, I was listening in as Michael was getting The Bean ready for bed.

Michael: (in a sweet sing-song voice) I know baby, you had a big day today. You were a sweet baby again. Yes, you were. You loved on your Daddy and everything was good. Thank goodness because you hurt Daddy's feelings. Luckily you're not the devil child anymore. But don't worry, Bean. One day, when you're sixteen years old, you're going to ask me if you can borrow the car and I'm going to tell you 'to go ask your mother about Savannah.' I won't forget what a little butthole you were.

Oh Bean...I wish I could save you.