Once upon a time PDG had a witching hour. That's the best term I could find for the 2-3 hours when he just wasn't happy. From around 6 or 7 until 9 each night he just couldn't quite get settled. He didn't have colic, but he was far from that cute roly-poly of a kid I thought he could/would/should be.
J-Man and I would pass him back and forth so that one of us could cook or eat or clean up. We wondered if we would ever both eat at the same time again. Ever. It seemed unlikely.
At some point, which I probably should note for future reference, he started to chill out some. Not every night at first, but gradually we could put him down in his vibrating chair. Then, his neck got stronger and he could handle the bumbo for more than 2 minutes at a time.
So now, propped on the table, occasionally cloaked like a superhero, he takes part in dinnertime too. He watches as our forks go from plate to mouth, and I know as soon as the doc gives the go ahead, he'll be happily eating with us too.
Til then, we just tickle his toes, let him smell new flavors, and enjoy ten minutes of family time at the table.
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