Hungry. Wet. Tired. Poopy. All good reasons to cry. And, believe me, my girls know how to cry, especially Grace.
At first, it really bothered me when they cried. But six months down the road, I'm a little immune to their screams. Don't get me wrong. I still jump up the moment I hear the first wail, and my eyes still pop open when it happens over night. But my stomach doesn't tense up with the fear of not knowing what to do. I feel so much more confident that I can tell what the cries mean and fix the problem.
But they have thrown me a curve ball.
Real tears. REAL. TEARS. Big, huge, fat tears welling up in their eyes and rolling down their chubby little cheeks.
They have found my weakness. I stand no chance.