Bayonets of Fire!

Our baby doesn't sleep in a bayonet.  She sleeps in a bassinet.  It's not her bayonet which is dirty and needs cleaning.  No foe's blood soils her sword.  She hasn't fought in any battles.  She doesn't even have a rifle on which to affix her bayonet.  She has no bayonet.  It's bassinet, (bassinet, bassinet).

Generous people have showered Madeleine with gifts -- mostly well-appreciated clothing.  On one jumper, there was attached a gigantic warning written in both Spanish and English: "Warning: not flame retardant.  Loose clothing is a fire hazard."  Not flame retardant?  What kind of rummy clothing is this!?  Can't even stand fire!?  How do they expect us to get on with normal infantile activities?

Yesterday morning, after a night of interrupting Madeleine's sleep every three hours by pinching her until she cried, Christy was a little tired.  I showered and got ready for work, brushed my teeth, then went to bid her farewell.  She was asleep, so I got close, getting ready to wake her gently.  All of a sudden, still asleep, she hawked and spit.  Like she meant it.  She opened her eyes and saw me, then asked, "Did I really spit?"  "Yes.  You sure did," I said smiling.  We couldn't stop laughing as she described her dream, in which she was brushing her teeth.  Her roommate wouldn't let her spit in the sink.  Eventually, she made it to the sink.  And her pillow.