Just before bedtime tonight, after her nighttime bottle, I was gently coaxing an elusive burp out of her and I thought I'd divert her attention by trying one of her headbands on her. I bought it when she was 6 months old while I nervously passed the time at Claire's waiting in line to have her ears pierced, which is the only reason that I remember how long I've had it. (I tend not to forget near-panic attack experiences.)
Anyway, I've been waiting for her melon to ripen and grow into it. Well, it has and she looks so stinkin' adorable with it on. What was even cuter was the smile that spread across her face when I placed the band on her head. I swear she thought it was her coronation because after finally getting that bashful burp to surface, I took the headband off so I could lay her in the crib. She. Lost. It. We're talking full-out, zero-to-sixty-wailing like I had ripped the tiara and her place in the line of succession to the royal throne from her grasp. It was pitiful. But quite comical at the same time.
To make sure that it wasn't a silly coincidence, I tried it again. (Yes, I'm a glutton for punishment.) Headband on. An even happier baby than before. A bubbly, exuberant one, in fact. Headband off. Heartbreak. All of this and she's only 10 months old. Maybe Daddy was right when he vetoed my idea to buy her tiny little diamond studs for her 1st birthday. Hell hath no fury like an infant scorned, apparently. Lord, help us.