I have it easy, I really do. Every time I think about how difficult my life is, I remember, "Hey, I didn't have to pass that head through my nether region. Remember when Pamela did that? That looked painful, eh? With the blood and the grrr, and the wow, is there still blood?" Yeah, easy as pie. Anyways, today I figured out how I'm useful. For the first time in this whole shebang. Here's the deal.

The little one was crying because her tummy was aching. Oh, it was a very unhappy little tum, and the poor thing just couldn't stop crying. She wouldn't even eat, even though she was hungry (continually gnoshing on her hands and bobbling her head, a sure-fire sign of hunger). So I said to Pamela, "Hey, can I try to calm her?" There'd been a few minutes of baby-crying and the little one was just starting to get out of hand. So Pam said to me, "Sure," and handed the little one right over.

Now, it took me a second or two to figure out what the problem was, because I'm just the guy in the relationship, which mean I'm moderately retarded. However, the little one loves me (absolutely crazy about me), and with her help, I figured out that it was her stomach that was bothering her. Often, if her tummy hurts, I can just hold her stomach-down in one hand and the pressure will help alleviate some of the pain, make her burp or poop, and things are good again. This time, the pressure was what she needed, but it didn't fix the problem - it just delayed the problem. What I mean is... no tummy-action really occurred. No monumental action, anyways. So, we continue on, playing super-baby.

Theresa loves playing super-baby. This is, of course, when she gets to fly around and act like a super hero. I hold her by the stomach and we zoom around stopping crime. More accurately, we stop no crime, but are adorably cute. We often fly to the mirror and check that out, though just lately she's been getting jealous of that other baby with her big guy. Most babies don't really get into mirrors until 4 or 5 months, but at just 2 and a smidgeon months, Theresa can't get enough of it.

Anyways, we played super baby for a while, and she calmed right down, calmed enough for smiles. So I handed her back to Pamela to continue feeding and... bam, crying again. Crying enough that there was no way to latch. So (and this is the part I was useful) while Pamela was holding the little one by the head and butt (so that she wouldn't fall) I wrapped one of my rather large sandwich clamps around the midsection of the baby and applied a bit of pressure and... RESULT! She was quite happy.

This is the first time that I've really done something that Pamela couldn't have doner herself. Any other time I calm the little one, Pam could have done the same thing (often in less time) but today I helped to make the situation better and it wouldn't have improved anywhere near as quickly without me.

Of course, after a while, the combination of food and pressure made the little one fart like crazy. Baby farts are roughly the funniest thing I've experienced, ever. She's just this tiny little thing (almost ten pounds now) but she'll just let the wind go with gusto. It's hilarious And it's not just one or two farts... it's half a dozen, in a row. And they're good long ones, too.

Sometimes, and I'm only saying this because I'm 98% sure that she won't read this, but sometimes, and please don't tell her if you happen to know her, because this would be bad, but sometimes, just sometimes... I think Pamela might just be farting and blaming it on the baby.

There. I've said it. I hope she never knows.