Vanity, Thy Name is Baby.

As I typed the title of this post, I realized that a while back I posted an entry called "Vanity, Thy Name is Pregnancy." So I guess this is just the natural progression of things.

The latest contraption that keeps the Punky placated for 15 minutes is her beloved Grandma swing. She hated the swing we presently had. I don't know what it was but she could be in a coma and we'd put her in it, and she'd instantly wake up in a rage. She hates our swing. But she seems to love the swing A's mom has at her place, so Grandma A has been so very kind as to let us borrow her swing so Mommy can FOR THE LOVE OF GOD put the baby down for 10 minutes.

It's been working out splendidly except for one thing. There is a little flower with a mirror on it that hangs above the swing. The Punky will amuse herself for minutes at a time (which when you're three months old, that says a lot for your attention span) staring at the mirror. She smiles. She coos. It's actually adorable. I suppose it's the beginnings of what will probably become an obnoxiously vain teenager, but she is very cute, so I suppose it's warranted.

But after about 15 minutes of Mirror Baby, the Punky wants no more. No more, she says! She goes from gurgling and cooing to angrily pawing at the mirror and screaming. FUCK Mirror Baby, man! I hate that baby! Who in the big blue FUCK does she think she is? SHE'S MOCKING ME!!!! GRAAAHHH!!!!

(Apparently in my mind, my daughter has inherited my potty mouth. Meh. Whatever.)

So I think we're looking at the early developments of either vanity, or a self-loathing complex. I'm not sure which yet. Stay tuned on that.