Here's to family love. Cheers. *clink*

I understand the Middle East keeps melting down, but Bryce just isn't sleeping well.

I've been on the couch, which is by no means any consolation to the Mama who has been miserable with lack of sleep.

It's not that Bryce is all that colicky; we've heard other intense horror stories that we're not experiencing.

She did have a cold recently and she's teething; there are now two bottom fronts poking their tops from sweet pink gums.

She's six months old and nursing, but Beatrice nursed until she was 13 months old, and from what we remember, she slept better at some point between 6-12 months.

It's upwards of four times per night -- and although Bryce usually goes back to sleep, Mama does not.

Nope, she can't take valerian root; can't take much of anything while she's nursing. Nope, I can't nurse, and even if she pumped more and I fed Bryce bottles at night, it still wouldn't help Mama sleep. Not while the baby keeps waking up multiple times.

We also read about developmental changes that occur between 6-12 months that can also affect sleep patterns. And now that we think of it, Bea slept poorly at 6+ months old, which meant we all did.

For Mama to sleep better, baby has to start sleeping better -- doesn't matter where the Daddy sleeps. So while we try to figure it all out, I can't help but reflect on the family love we share.

Take daddy daycare yesterday afternoon. Bryce woke up before Bea from the afternoon napping, and so we played, giggled, laughed and snuggled.

I fed her some baby cereal and then gave her a bottle. Bea never took bottles well from me (or anyone), but Bryce is a good eater when it comes to the Daddy.

I'm not the Mama, but while I fed her the bottle, our eyes locked and we cooed at each other and she'd smile and reach up with her tiny hand to touch my face and beard.

Sweet as a ladybug. Sweeter if she slept better, but sweet as a ladybug nonetheless.

Then there's our new after-dinner family play. We go upstairs and Beatrice cries out:

"Hide!"

Which is my queue to go hide, wait for her to inch as close as she dare come to finding me, and then I jump out and scare the Be-Jesus our of her.

And she loves it. Every single time.

"Hide! Hide! Hide! Hide!"

"Gotcha!"

Bea jumps -- giggles -- dives into my arms and all the while Mama holds Bryce who whelps it up longing to join in on the play.

The B-hive troubles are nothing compared to what the folks in Tripoli and elsewhere are dealing with, but you know there are families here, there and everywhere not sleeping, crying, playing, living and loving regardless of circumstance.

Here's to family love. Cheers. *clink*

(Too bad that doesn't help us sleep either...)