It was early summer. I was sticky and the sun was hot and I wandered our neighborhood trying desperately to get my baby to take a nap and maybe make myself feel like I had this motherhood thing down. My baby, however, had different ideas. She had shown signs of impending divahood very early on. From wailing until I held her, no matter how hard her dad tried to rock her into submission to screaming throughout the entire 45-minute car ride to visit my mom (every. single. time), low maintenance this child was not.
I was trying hard to get a handle on it, trying to fit all of the pieces of the puzzle together to figure out how best to deal with her little personality.