No, it isn't any easier the 6th time around ... because it's still the first time for the little one in question.
Seven is rarely unhappy. In fact, she cries so infrequently that the merest glimmer of a whimper stops everyone in the house--toddlers included--dead in their tracks.
"Momma! Momma! Baby crying!" Oli implored me this morning. Seven was strapped into the ergo, riding out the pain just inches below my chin. Yes, I knew the baby was crying. But how to tell well-meaning, soft-hearted Oli that there just wasn't anything I could do about it?
Later, Jo begged me to let her try and work her magic on her beloved baby sister. She rocked, cajoled, bounced... to no avail. Finally satisfied that she could do nothing else, she handed Seven back to me. and fled upstairs, where at least the sound of a whimpering baby was less obvious.
Teething gel. Cold wash cloths. Counter pressure with whatever is at hand. Tylenol.
"Theben ith thad," Mani nodded solemnly at lunch as I struggled to latch a sobbing, writhing baby to my breast. For those not blessed with a sweetly lisping two year-old, I'll translate, and let Mani sum it all up for you:
Seven is sad. And so are we.