conuly

She had one earlier this week, and come to think of it she got an awful lot in the first grade, although we chalked those up to lack of sleep and dehydration. I hope she hasn't inherited the migraines, but when virtually every woman and girl in the maternal line of our family has migraines (or, in my case, what appear to be cluster headaches) I would suggest the odds are not in her favor.

She didn't have a fever, chickenpox, or signs of flu, so I gave her a baby aspirin which she utterly failed to swallow, eventually resorting to chewing it up. Ew. She then went to bed, chastising me for being insufficiently comforting.

So, to apologize, I sang to her, starting with "I gave my love a cherry"

Me: I gave my love a cherry that had no stone
Eva: A seed, right?
Me: Yes, a stone is a pit or a seed. Shh. I gave my love a chicken that has no bone
Eva: But how is that possible? Connie?
Me: Shush! I told my love a story that had no end, and I gave my love a baby with no crying.
Eva: A BABY WITH NO CRYING?
Me: Are you going to be quiet?
Eva: Yes.
Me: How can there be.... (I'm not typing the whole verse. Imagine her comments after the appropriate lines.)
Eva: Of course, you can just take the pits out, like the cherries in a jar. And you can use the same process on chickens. With a story, all you have to do is not say the end. And just keep a baby from crying, change its diaper and hug it!
Me: Shut up. A cherry when it's blooming, it has no stone. A chicken in the eggshell, it has no bone. The story that I love you, it has no end, and a baby when it's sleeping, there's no crying.
Eva: My answers made more sense. And really, is the baby just supposed to sleep? Forever?
Me: You're supposed to sleep....
Eva: Connie, it's silly!
Me: Don't over think it, just go to sleep.
Eva: That's the difference, I think things through. It's not wrong to use logic. Babies don't sleep that long!
Me: Fine, "the baby in the graveyard, there's no crying." Now it's a sad song. Go to sleep.
Eva: So you give your love a dead baby? That's preposterous.
Me: My love is a vampire. Or a ghoul.
Eva: It doesn't want your dead spirit baby!

I have to be up super early tomorrow to make muffins for Ana to take to Mark Twain of testing. Fingers crossed!