Greetings From The Gulag

Dear Hagen,

I don't know how the Soviets used to extract information from captured enemy agents, but lemme tell you what they could have done:

"Velcome to zee Interrogation Room. Here's your teething baby, ya?"

You cried all. night. long. (I wish Lionel Richie were here to back me up: "All night! All night!").

The longest stretch of sleep you got was 30 minutes, and you only stopped crying if I stood up and held you upright and jiggled you around a little. No sitting down. No standing still. I give up. You can have my secrets. I pledge allegiance to Mother Russia.

If someone attempted to have a conversation with me today, it would go something like this:

- Brooke, what's your favorite color?
- Chevrolet.

I intended to get up this morning and write a celebratory post about how you're six months old today, and are the sunshine of our lives, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. The sleep deprivation is so bad around here that your dad - who once had to sleep on a tiny bunk on a crowded battleship in between making helicopter flights into Djibouti - had to call in sick today.

__________

In Laney news, Dad has a new policy around here called, "Find a solution!" in order to encourage her to solve problems with her own ingenuity. Here's the problem with that:

Laney: Dad, I want to share Hagen's pacifier.
Dad: No, you're a big girl, you don't need it. It's going up here on the bookcase.

Yep, that's Laney standing on the edge of her bed, pulling it down with a butterfly net.

We give up. Y'all can have the house. Try to remember to feed the dogs.

Love,
Mom