I wonder if babies feel as frustrated with parents as we do with those automated phone menus. Remy had a rough night. We changed him, fed him, rocked him, massaged his tummy and back, burped him – Dave even walked him around for a few hours. His belly hurts, and we just couldn’t do that much to help. To me, his nonstop wailing meant,

You’re not getting it! I need another option, you idiots!

We’ve reached the point with Tess where we’re dying for words – dying to explain what certain things are (brother), how things work (sippy cups), what grandma means. And we’re close. She’s starting to make connections, like

hi

gets people’s attention, and waving is a thing – not just hand flapping for her amusement. Then I look at Remy and think,

Poor kid. You’re not going to get this for ages.

Which is weird because he’ll probably be on Tess’ heels for the rest of their lives in terms of development. For now though, our communication with both kids is limited and challenging. Remy has no idea why these fuzzy giants can’t fix his gassy belly, and Tess is frustrated that the little ball of blankets gets bottles and nuks she can’t have. And we’ll continue along this culture clash path until words, beautiful words, help us explain why everyone can’t have everything they want all the time!

We are easing into things. Tess is adjusting to life as a big sister. Remy is getting used to our noisy, laugh-filled life and is ignoring pretty much everything. (He’s still sleeping all day.) Dave and I are settling back into the

up all night

routine, and Stella is back hoovering up Tess’ dropped food experiments. We may not have words yet, but we’re getting the kinks out anyway.

In order to maintain our current level of crazy, I have an audition today. Nothing major – but my first actual audition in years. Perhaps two days after getting back from an adoption adventure isn’t ideal, but I’m determined to go through with it. Fingers crossed!