About three weeks into PCs life, Mr. The King and I decided to try out a swing that we had received as a gift. After much hemming and hawing, we put him in the flat bassinet attachment, because we figured he could not sit up yet. We swaddled him first. And our swaddling was out of control. We felt the tighter, the better. Both Mr. The King and I had earned our black belt in swaddling, because it seemed to buy us a few extra minutes without the crying. We were so good it was like we were actually vacuum packing PC in flannel. Anyhootchie, We swaddled him and laid him in the bassinet.
We clicked it on. Later, we would learn there are three speeds. The first up is the fastest.
Mr. The King and I held our breath and each others hands while we watched our little flannel burrito roll back and forth in the bassinet.
Oh the panic.
Me~Dear God, should we take him out?
Mr. The King ~Is he supposed to be rolling?
What stopped us from removing him was the fact that he was not crying. And the silence was so incredibly golden to us. And we had no clue what you did with the infant in the bassinet swing.
So we watched, inches from the machine, barely breathing. The swing made a gentle clicking noise. The baby made a gentle thumping noise when he rolled against the mesh.
Click, thump, Click, thump, Click, thump.
I can still picture my husband and I staring at that swing together like it was a fire breathing alligator.
Eventually, centrifugal force kept sweet little PC pinned to one side. His sweet sleeping face mushed up against the mesh side.
Me~Oh God, can he breathe?
Mr. The King~Looks like he is breathing.
I try to feel his breath with the side of my cheek. I got on my hands and knees and keep up with the manic, high speed swing. I ascertained that he was, in fact breathing.
So we tried to sit back and relax. Which of course, meant acting like monks pledged to silence, in a meditative yoga pose, on the top of a dormant, lifeless volcano.
In a very unrealistic way, we tried to become deer in the woods. Quiet, surefooted and silent. What we became was frustrated, overeaters playing the most vicious game of charades ever.
We would sit side by side on the couch watching the TV on mute. Trying not to cough or fart. Then one of us would have the audacity to get up to pee. The dirty looks from the other could wither the most road tested assassin. And if you flushed. If you happened to give into the instinct to flush. The eyes you faced when you slunk back to the silent couch would never stop boring into you. But the very worst horror was the phone ringing.
We would leap up in shock.
We would knock into each other and mouth curses as we careened to the phone base. Our faces would pale. The Cordless phone was on the loose. And it was going to RING AGAIN!!!
Mr. The King would launch into a series of hand signals mostly used by swat teams and drug runners. I would nod. The bedrooms were mine and the living areas were his. We would separate. Our silent couch sitting was in danger! The elusive nap, as fragile as a soap bubble, was ready to be popped. We threw ourselves all around the apartment.
Third ring.
It was over.
PC~Waaaaaaaa
The hands throwing up. The stomping. And Lord help whoever the phone was for, because then, it was their fault.
Also, at the dance party they had three fabulous balloon animal hat makers. Really, they were artists. What they could make was outrageous. Did I mention free? Oh, yes, FREE. Just ask for what you want, and they would hook you up. First up, they were swamped and making quick offs. PS picked what the kid in front of her picked and got an all black Mickey head. 
It made him about 65. And mostly resembled a triangle. Not fancy is putting it mildly. I have know idea what he ordered so, he may have well gotten his dream hat. 
Mr.TK and his two talents:
Sorry about that.
on my team. In case you are wondering, the WM game is computerized. And you all know the havoc Grandma 
said no way. Good for me when I'm keeping Reid.
