Rubber Ducky, You're the One

Aside from the occassional trouble falling asleep, Mary Kate is a pretty content baby. All of that changes when she gets a bath, whereupon she goes beyond screaming and approaches the threshold of wailing. This might be because she hates being naked and exposed, which Jenny and I sincerely hope will last well into high school and college years and on to her wedding day. Most likely, she just gets really really cold, so Jenny got the idea to actually fill up her baby tub and immerse her in warm water, rather than do the sponge bath thing. Mary Kate likes this much better, which means she backed up to uncomfortable sniffling instead of yelling:



When she comes out of her nice warm bath, she is inevitably blasted with another draft of cold air, which brings on another bout of crying. So we wrap her in a soft fluffy towel and head for the changing table to install a diaper and pajamas (or "jammys" as I am told they are called until the child reaches puberty). Fortunately, any crying that takes place at that point can be erased by Daddy's little finger, which acts as a natural pacifier (Thank you, Baby Owner's Manual, p. 55):



Maybe by our fourth child, we'll have this down to a science. By the way, the Baby Owner's Manual has been my salvation more than once, and I recommend it to any new parent, especially new Dads.