Curmudgeon turns lucky streak into myth-making

I don't have that much contact with the-baby-to-named-later (yes, she has a real name, but I haven't decided what to call her here) even though the child is living under my roof.

So it's not like there's a big data set that's built up in the three weeks or so that the child has been at home -- but in that time I have so far always managed to carry the baby without her fussing.

Now, you know and I know that this is mere luck and coincidence. But I am painting this as a grandpa superpower and Youngest Daughter is so sleep-deprived I think she's beginning to buy it.

Long Suffering Spouse has changed the baby and provided an occasional emergency bottle -- I've done none of those things -- and, of course, with uncomfortable diapers or on the clock for a meal, the baby has fussed considerably when my wife has handled her.

Of course, Long Suffering Spouse has her little methods.

She sings to the child. She bounces up and down a bit -- gently, of course -- and talks and coos and walks around with the baby and, usually, she'll get the child to settle down, too.

Oh sure, I tell her, if you're willing to surrender your self-respect, you can get the baby calm. I, on the other hand, don't have to resort to such grubby tricks.

Long Suffering Spouse sees straight through this.

"You're just warm," she says, "and you put her right to sleep."

Well, yes, that's a big part of it.

Olaf witnessed his daughter's falling asleep in the crook of my elbow the other day. (I don't know why Olaf wasn't holding onto his own child at that point either).

"I want you to remember something for me," I told Olaf.

"What?"

"When the baby gets older, there will come a time when she thinks Grandpa is boring. Remind her for me then that there was a time when she used to like boring just fine."