Stress test

I read in the paper today that “British researchers say Tuesday at 11:45am is the most stressful time of the week.”

That works for me. Two weeks in a row now, sweet B has become some sort of pint-sized berserker on Tuesday mornings. Absolutely unhinged. Inconsolable wailings, weepings, and gnashings of gums. Food doesn’t work, hugging doesn’t work, rocking doesn’t work, singing Cab Calloway songs doesn’t work. This morning I even tried milk, not having offered her a bottle for perhaps a month now. It didn’t work either. Spectacularly.

I thought maybe I’d just call a cab to the airport and head back to Connecticut a few weeks early.

She did eventually hysericalize herself down into a late morning nap, and, costing Southwest Airlines a few bucks, she woke up her sweet self again.

My little Rudey Tuesday.

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