Sunshine, storms, and the wacky cycles of infants

When Genevieve was born, Sarah installed an app called the Wonder Weeks. Based on the book of the same name, the Wonder Weeks shows you how babies develop through multi-day cycles — sometimes weeks — and depending on what occurs during those cycles, can result in a good week … or not a good week.

Because it’s an app, it’s cute. Good weeks are indicated by sunshine. Bad weeks? Clouds. Really bad weeks? A cloud and a lightning bolt.

Early in Genevieve’s life she cried frequently, sometimes nonstop. After an early frantic call to the pediatrician wondering if there was anything we can do, and then after hustling to the pharmacy to pick up gripe water, we consulted the Wonder Weeks app and found she was going through a relatively stormy period. She also had colic, but we noticed that during stormy periods the colic would soar so high that we’d start crying because we had no answer.

Pediatricians — and sometimes other parents — will tell you early on that there is often no answer. Babies cry, and for no reason, and so you have to just get through it and comfort the baby as much as possible. But when logic isn’t enough and you find yourself wanting to hit your head against the bedpost because life just isn’t fair, you can turn to the Wonder Weeks and realize you’re probably going to be fine in a couple days.

We were, in fact, fine in a couple days. After three months Genevieve turned the corner and became a calm, less irritable child. Sure she’d cry from time to time, but she cried for reasons, not just because it was the one of the three things she could do with her mouth and eyes. By four months Genevieve was pleasant, and soon happy and delightful. Sometimes she was even goofy, cracking jokes to herself that made us both laugh. Often she was opinionated, but typically she’d just yell out some mumbled prose with an inflection, as if she was constantly attempting to win on “Jeopardy!”

This awesome period of Genevieve’s development lasted for more than five months. As she grew she became curious about her surroundings, opening up and speaking out. We could both see each other in her; sure she still looks more like me than Sarah, but she can be heard from outside, which is definitely more like Sarah than me.

Then Genevieve hit 10 months.

Oh man.

Toddlers — I’m talking the ones who hit two years old — are grubby, entitled, snotty, funky little things that want and demand everything despite being seriously cute in their tiny grown-up clothing. Toddlers are a challenge because they can move at will, can talk just enough to know what certain words mean and how they affect others, but yet they don’t quite understand what is right and wrong. This is when “No” starts to come into play. Then the toddler laughs at “No.” Then there’s punishment. Then there’s crying. Toddlers cry a lot. And for reasons. But the reasons aren’t entirely logical.

Genevieve isn’t a toddler. She can’t walk on her own, though she can stay on her feet for about three seconds before dropping to her butt. She can’t say any actual words, although “dadada” and “mamama” are part of her mumbling vocabulary, and at this point we believe she knows what those words mean and how they can get her places. She also only has two teeth, which came in over the last few weeks and make her look slightly frightening but ultimately incredibly cute. So she’s still very much an infant, still wearing her size-3 diapers and 9-month onesies, though there have been more t-shirts recently.

But she eats three meals a day. Lunch apparently goes well at day care. Dinner isn’t too bad most of the time, though she can be picky.

Then there’s breakfast, and man does Genevieve have hot takes about breakfast.

Before taking her to day care I feed her typically one protein (yogurt, egg) with several pieces of chopped fruit (strawberry, blueberry, peach, banana). Recently, she has studied pieces of the egg, placed a couple into her mouth (one at a time, very daintily), then decided that she was, for all intents and purposes, finished with the exercise. She’d whine, stick her thumb in her mouth and stare at me with a satisfaction that screams “I’ve done what you asked. Your move.”

My move is typically to ask her to eat more egg.

She does not eat more egg.

So I stress the importance of eating the egg, maybe throwing in a “please.”

The thumb stays squarely in her mouth.

So then I place a piece of egg white on my hand and extend it to her. That’s when she cranes her neck like she has whiplash and whines loudly and abruptly. She thrashes a second time and begins working herself up.

So I do the dumb thing: I remove her thumb.

Genevieve doesn’t like when the thumb is removed. I realized this after thirteen solid minutes of Genevieve wailing like a banshee on Tuesday. I wondered if we should completely remove the wakeup bottle she receives an hour before breakfast. I wondered if maybe she just didn’t like egg, even though she had been devouring eggs for weeks. I wondered if it was my fault, if she looked at me and saw the guy who doesn’t have Sarah’s softer eyes and comforting snuggle, and decided that the guy made her upset.

After telling Sarah about the Tuesday event — and sending Sarah two separate videos of Genevieve crying — she told me that it was, in fact, a stormy period on the Wonder Weeks. Whether or not it’s accurate the information gave me some comfort. Maybe it wasn’t my fault. Maybe it was a stormy period. Or maybe she’s teething again. Or maybe she’s growing and it’s painful. Or who knows what — there are literally no perfect answers revealing why babies act the way they do. Every baby is different, and so you just have to get through it and comfort the baby as much as possible.

But I’ll say this: Genevieve is already acting like a toddler. She already expresses her opinion by whining and complaining, which makes complete sense because I often express my opinion by whining and complaining. She seems too smart for her own good sometimes, the limitations facing her smacking her in the face (or cutting her lip) a bit more frequently than previously. She doesn’t like being in one place for more than, oh, four seconds, because the legs start slinking and the arms thrash and she moans and slithers somewhere else. And all she wants to do is be where the things are happening — if, God forbid, Sarah leaves the room, Genevieve will let the entire world know how she feels about it. Then, while bawling, she’ll crawl toward Sarah.

If I leave a room, she’ll wave goodbye to me.

Through sunshine, clouds and storms, she is my daughter. I’m now very aware of this.