Oliver has become increasingly difficult to put down at night. Last night I noticed that he kept flailing his arms about, which eventually led him to become fussy, so I got up and swaddled him. This must have been what he needed because he slept six hours, and then after eating, another four.
This morning when we woke up, Wes asked when I'd finally gotten to sleep. I told him, and he asked, "How'd you finally do it?"
"I had to take his arms away," I said.
Straight-faced, he asked, "Duct tape?"
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