A few nights ago, we had a very, very fussy baby on our hands. Nothing I did could make him happy. I picked him up, I put him down, I rocked him, I jiggled him, I patted his bottom, I talked to him, I sang to him.

That one was probably a bad call.

Finally, I swaddled him and put him in his bouncy seat to “eat.”

Through a tube.

Which is his current method of dining.

He still wasn’t happy.

So I picked him and swayed back and forth with him.

And he liked that.

Temporarily.

But then because I was standing and holding him, his feeding tube was too low for gravity to kick in and send the milk to his tummy.

And that pissed him off.

Royally.

So I had to pick the tube up and hold it above my head while swaying him back and forth.

After a few minutes, I looked at Gabe, lying on the couch working and said, “I feel like the Statue of Liberty.”

He looked up and laughed.

And snapped this picture.

Give me your tired, your poor, your premature.

On second thought, don’t.

Please don’t.

I more than have my hands full.