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Curse of the Were-Neutrino
A while back, in the course of readjusting Morgan's bedtime routine, we moved her bath from after dinner to before dinner. Since we got back from our trip, she's fallen swiftly and easily asleep in the sling on the dog's walk every night (about 8:00), including the night she rubbed so much sweet potato in her hair that she needed a second auxiliary bath after dinner, so we thought perhaps we would try moving the bath back to the more logical after-dinner position.

No. Let's not do that again.

Bath after dinner turns her into a were-neutrino, rocketing around the house emitting high-pitched shrieks of overtired manic delight until forcibly subdued (9:45). I have no theory of causal mechanism to propose, but the effects are reliably reproducible and unarguably distinct. So the illogical, slightly inconvenient bath timing stays. Oh yes. It stays.

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I had no idea bathtime was so exciting.

Bath time is glorious. You can splash! And stomp! And pour water out of cups! And splash some more!

(Edit: wait I should have used this icon)

Edited at 2013-10-11 04:20 pm (UTC)

We never have time to do bath after dinner. We just tell ourselves that we're not trying to keep the baby clean; we're just trying to keep the crust to a manageable thinness. It keeps us from breaking down in Sisyphean tears.

Yeah, trying to keep a baby clean sounds like a terribly frustrating goal. We're just going for moments of cleanliness here and there amidst the cloud of sand and grass stains and yogurt.

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