Scout broke our brains today. It's not been the best spring outside this year, and I think she senses it – especially after we'd made all manner of wild promises and vivid descriptions of this thing called summer. Tonight she finally called bullshit and let us have it – and with cold, wind and rain hemming us in from outside, we had no choice but to cower in the attic on our Pilates ball as she howled.
It's my duty to get Scout to sleep for the night; it's the closest thing I have to a magic touch. First Kerry induces her into a 'milk coma', then I wrap Scout in her pod (a nice way to describe what is essentially a straight-jacket). Tonight the coma did not happen, and I set to the laborious procedure from scratch, of getting her from crankypants to conked. She wailed, flailed, and then – as if declaring truce – she halted her fit, gazed at me and mewed aboo. She relaxed, and was out cold a few minutes later.
Scout's aboo is among her cutest accomplishments in life. It happens every now and then, often while being held. I immortalized it in ink, in this doodle I created for Kerry's Mothers Day card – the only bout of drawing I've managed in the 105 days since she's arrived on the scene.
