Z is 3.5 months old, and I can see it in her eyes: discontentment.
As she reclines in her infant seat, her brows wrinkle, and she struggles to sit up. She kicks her legs and pummels the air with her fists, trying desperately, but getting nowhere. Other times, when sitting up, a toy inches from her face, she reaches out, snatching at the bright colors with her uncoordinated fingers. Once in a while, she manages to snag it and draw it to her mouth. Eventually, she cries in frustration.
I remember this stage with Joe, as well. The stage where they so desperately want to be doing something... anything... other than just lying there, staring into space.
I feel it, too. In spite of the comfort of a spacious house, a nice yard, and the convenience of the local grocery store, I feel the desire to move on to something else.
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