Iron Fist

Got my first taste of baby grabbing my hair today. WOW that felt good. I stayed up way too late farting around on the computer last night and paid for it this morning. It's a good thing Jude isn't really a morning baby. After he wakes up at 6 a.m. for his breakfast (which I don't think I will EVER get used to), he will happily join me for a nice post breakfast nap on the couch. This is my favorite time of the day because it's the one nap of the day when I don't feel guilty for not running around like a mad woman getting some work done while he sleeps (which never lasts long). Waking up to iron grip baby fist clenching a chunk of my hair was an interesting way to actually begin my morning. It wouldn't have hurt so badly if it had been a larger chunk of it, but he managed to wrap his fingers around only a thin enough strand to make yanking on it feel like an army of fire ants were marching down my scalp. How do babies instinctively know to zero in on the most tender part of a woman's head? I tried to untangle myself from it gently enough to keep it from hurting worse, but it still became an, "ow, oW, OW, OWWWWW!" situation. I'd been hoping he would reach that grabbing-for-things milestone and boy, am I glad he started with my hair. I feel as though I've been officially hazed into the next step of motherhood, whatever that might be. I'm guessing that it's the step that involves Duder experimenting more with his little paws.