We're back from the beach with the baby....and the baby, for the first time in her ten-weeks-and-counting of life, is sleeping in her crib!

Up until now, Lucy's been sleeping in a bassinet in our bedroom (and, okay, if I'm going to be really honest, she's also been spending some time in our bed). But we came home bound and determined to at least give the crib a try. So on Monday night, we gave her a bath. Then I nursed her. Then I tucked her into her crib while she was awake but looking sleepy, offered her a pacifier, turned out the lights and left the room. And she slept for seven hours.

I don't expect it to last...but boy, it was pretty wonderful while it did.

The new sleeping arrangement means that Adam and I have finally activated the baby monitor. Which is probably way fancier than anything we actually need. In addition to letting us hear Lucy's every murmur and rustle, it has a button we can press to talk to her. Adam immediately started abusing his monitor privileges by waiting until I was in the nursery, then pressing the button and muttering "GET OUT," a la the Amityville Horror house.

(On a related note, how rejected must you feel when even your house doesn't want you around? Just wondering).

Also, the monitor has a button you can press that says SOOTHE. When you hit it, the monitor starts projecting this fabulous, psychedelic light show on the ceiling of the baby's room. ("Laser Floyd?" Adam asked hopefully. Not quite. But it's close).

Of course, the first time we tried it on Lucy, she got this very worried look on her face, then started crying. So no more SOOTHE. Although, to quote my sister-in-law April on the subject of Johnson & Johnson's calming lavender baby bath, "if there was actually something that could calm your baby down, wouldn't it cost more than four bucks?"


Lucy has developed a fascinating new repetoire of noises and gestures. She says something that sounds like "igloo," and something that sounds like "ah-lah," and something that sounds like a Southerner saying "Hi." She can put both arms out straight in front of her, and Adam and I cheer her on, saying "Go, Lucy! Go Lucy! Drive the bus! Drive the bus!" She can kick, and she can smile, and she can reliably insert up to four fingers into her mouth, and suck on them happily.

The thing I'm worried about now is entertaining her. My Mom could sing and talk with her for hours on end, while I tend to run out of material after, say, a few rounds of "This little piggy" and two verses of "The Wheels on the Bus." (I mean, what else is there after the wheels, and the wipers, and the driver? Note to self: must ride bus.)

My philosophy is, as long as I'm singing something to her, and she's not actively trying to get me to stop, it's okay. So tonight I eased her off to dreamland with a heartfelt rendition of Spinal Tap's "Gimme Some Money."

Stop wastin' my time
You know what I want
You know what I need
Or maybe you don't
Do I have to come right flat out and tell you everything
Gimme some money.....

I fully expect her to recover this memory in therapy someday.