Drum roll, please (Anna)

The little one has a meltdown. We try milk. We try rocking, in the rocking chair. We try rocking, standing up. We try going upstairs. We try a nappy change. We try swapping Mums. We try going downstairs. We try blowing raspberries. We try sleeping. We try playing. We try the bed. We try the cot. We try belly rubs.

Still. Meltdown.

Eventually, I tried to put her over my knee with her belly down, which sometimes helps (maybe when she has a belly ache?) Sill, the crying. I tried singing.

And eventually I stumbled on what our little beautiful one needed. Apparently, she needed to be placed face down and have her bum played like a drum. Dum, dum, da, da, da, dum, like I was spanking her in the middle of Bernstein's mass. And I couldn't stop singing and I couldn't stop tapping her bum without her crying again. Stroking didn't cut it. Patting was apparently too timid. It had to be a committed whack. And it had to be rhythmic. We must have played percussion for at least fifteen minutes.

So there we have it. Our daughter doesn't want to be a drummer. She wants to be the drum.

Babies, huh?