Obviously, we both adore you, from your changing hair (getting lighter, and thicker. We may have a red-headed Chinese kid yet) to your extremely pinchable bottom to the way you and your other mom seem to magically sleep in the same position every time.

Last night, my dear baby girl, you put our skillz as your adoring parents to the test with your 3 hour fussing marathon from 5-8 am. It's more than just us not getting sleep, it's that nothing we tried made you more comfortable. No amount of shusshing, patting, burping, feeding attempts, clean diapers, swaddling attempts (oh can you break free from your mom's expert swaddle when the rage takes you) made you happy. Not until finally, you let Andrea swaddle you and we put the dreaded pacifier in your mouth.

Then you laid there looking like Maggie Simpson, sucking happily until the pacifier fell out.

And then you cried your flipper cry again off and on until 8, when we finally all got some rest.

During the night, I swear to you her face got rounder. She's growing when I blink, because we've hardly taken our eyes off her since she was born.

Of course, now it's 5:45 pm and you've eaten nicely and are sacked out on my belly. I know that doesn't bode well for tonight but it still makes your very sore Mom feel better to know that you can still be consoled by her.